THOSE  TIMES  AND  THESE 


BY    IRVIN    S.    COBB 


FICTION 

THOSE  TIMES  AND  THESE 

OLD  JUDGE  PRIEST 

BACK  HOME 

LOCAL  COLOR 

THE  ESCAPE  OF  MR.  TRIMM 

FIBBLE,  D.  D. 

WIT  AND  HUMOR 

"SPEAKING  OF  OPERATIONS ' 

EUROPE  REVISED 
ROUGHING  IT  DE  LUXE 
COBB'S  BILL  OF  FARE 
COBB'S  ANATOMY 

MISCELLANY 

"SPEAKING  OF  PRUSSIANS " 

PATHS  OF  GLORY 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THOSE  TIMES 
AND  THESE 


BY 

IRVIN  S.  COBB 


AUTHOR  OF  "BACK  HOME,"  "PATHS  OF  GLORY, 
ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO  THE  MEMORY 
OF 

MANDY   MARTIN, 

whose  soul  was  as  white  as  her  skin  was  black, 
and  who  for  forty-two  years,  until  her  death, 
was  a  loyal  friend  and  servant  of  my  people. 


(62749 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTKB  PAGE 

I  EX-FIGHTIN'  BILLY 11 

II  AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT 52 

III  MR.  FELSBURG  GETS  EVEN 76 

IV  THE  GARB  OF  MEN 113 

V  THE  CURE  FOR  LONESOMENESS 138 

VI  THE  FAMILY  TREE 169 

VII  HARK!  FROM  THE  TOMBS 218 

VIII  CINNAMON  SEED  AND  SANDY  BOTTOM       ....  258 

IX  A  Kiss  FOR  KINDNESS 308 

X  LIFE  AMONG  THE  ABANDONED  FARMERS  ....  343 


vii 


THOSE  TIMES  AND  THESE 


CHAPTER  I        \  ;.5,':j. 
EX-FIGHTIN'    BILLY;.    , 


TO  me  and  to  those  of  my  generation, 
Judge  Priest  was  always  Judge  Priest. 
So  he  was  also  to  most  of  the  people 
of  our  town   and  our  county  and  our 
judicial  district.    A  few  men  of  his  own  age — 
mainly  men  who  had  served  with  him  in  the 
Big  War — called  him  Billy,  right  to  his  face, 
and  yet  a  few  others,  men  of  greater  age  than 
these,  spoke  of  him  and  to  him  as  William,  giving 
to  the  name  that  benignant  and  most  paternal 
air  which  an  octogenarian  may  employ  in  re 
ferring  to  one  who  is  ten  or  fifteen  years  his 
junior. 

I  was  a  fairly  sizable  young  person  before 
ever  I  found  out  that  once  upon  a  time  among 
his  intimates  the  Judge  had  worn  yet  another 
title.  Information  upon  this  subject  was  im 
parted  to  me  one  summery  afternoon  by  Ser 
geant  Jimmy  Bagby  as  we  two  perched  in 
company  upon  the  porch  of  the  old  boat-store. 
I  don't  know  what  mission  brought  Sergeant 
Bagby  three  blocks  down  Franklin  Street  from 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

his  retail  grocery  establishment,  unless  it  was 
that  sometimes  the  boat-store  porch  was  cool 
while  the  rest  of  the  town  baked.  That  is  to 
say,  it  was  cool  by  comparison.  Little  wanton 
breezes  that  strayed  across  the  river  paid  flut 
tering  visits  there  before  they  struck  inland  to 
perisli  rrjqerably  of  heat  prostration. 

,  5\>r  the  moment  the  Sergeant  and  I  had  the 
little  wcoden  balcony  to  ourselves,  nearly 
everybody  else  within  sight  and  hearing  having 
gone  down  the  levee  personally  to  enjoy  the 
small  excitement  of  seeing  the  stern-wheel 
packet  Emily  Foster  land  after  successfully  com 
pleting  one  of  her  regular  triweekly  round  trips 
to  Clarksburg  and  way  landings. 

At  the  blast  of  the  Emily  Foster's  whistles  as 
she  rounded  to  and  put  her  nose  upstream  pre 
paratory  to  sliding  in  alongside  the  wharf, 
divers  coloured  persons  of  the  leisure  class  had 
roused  from  where  they  napped  in  the  shady 
lee  of  freight  piles  and  lined  up  on  the  outer  gun 
wales  of  the  wharf-boat  ready  to  catch  and 
make  fast  the  head-line  when  it  should  be 
tossed  across  the  intervening  patch  of  water 
into  their  volunteer  hands. 

Two  town  hacks  and  two  town  drays  had 
coursed  down  the  steep  gravelled  incline,  with 
the  draymen  standing  erect  upon  the  jouncing 
springless  beds  of  their  drays  as  was  their  way. 
In  the  matter  of  maintaining  a  balance  over 
rough  going  and  around  abrupt  turns,  no 

chariot  racers  of  old  could  have  taught  them 

_  _ 


BILLY 

anything.  Only  Sergeant  Bagby  and  I,  of  all 
in  the  immediate  vicinity,  had  remained  where 
we  were.  The  Sergeant  was  not  of  what  you 
could  exactly  call  a  restless  nature,  and  I,  for 
the  moment,  must  have  been  overcome  by  one 
of  those  fits  of  languor  which  occasionally  de 
scend  upon  the  adolescent  manling.  We  two 
bided  where  we  sat. 

With  a  tinkle  of  her  engine  bells,  a  calling 
out  of  orders  and  objurgations  in  the  profes 
sionally  hoarse,  professionally  profane  voice  of 
her  head  mate  and  a  racking,  asthmatic  cough 
ing  and  sighing  and  pounding  from  her  exhaust 
pipes,  the  Emily  Foster  had  found  her  berth; 
and  now  her  late  passengers  came  streaming  up 
the  slant  of  the  hill — a  lanky  timberman  or 
two,  a  commercial  traveller — most  patently  a 
commercial  traveller — a  dressy  person  who 
looked  as  though  he  might  be  an  advance 
agent  for  some  amusement  enterprise,  and  a 
family  of  movers,  burdened  with  babies  and 
bundles  and  accompanied  by  the  inevitable 
hound  dog.  The  commercial  traveller  and  the 
suspected  advance  agent  patronised  the  hacks 
• — fare  twenty-five  cents  anywhere  inside  the 
corporate  limits — but  the  rest  entered  into  the 
city  afoot  and  sweating.  At  the  very  tail  of 
the  procession  appeared  our  circuit  judge,  he 
being  closely  convoyed  by  his  black  house-boy, 
Jeff  Poindexter,  who  packed  the  master's  bulg 
ing  and  ancient  valise'  with  one  hand  and  bore  a 
small  collection  of  law  books  under  his  other  arm. 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Looking  much  like  a  high-land  terrapin  be 
neath  the  shelter  of  his  venerable  cotton  um 
brella,  Judge  Priest  toiled  up  the  hot  slant. 
Observed  from  above,  only  his  legs  were  visible 
for  the  moment.  We  knew  him,  though,  by 
his  legs — and  also  by  Jeff  and  the  umbrella. 
Alongside  the  eastern  wall  of  the  boat-store, 
nearmost  of  all  buildings  to  the  water-front,  he 
halted  in  its  welcome  shadows  to  blow  and  to 
mop  his  streaming  face  with  a  vast  square  of 
handkerchief,  and,  while  so  engaged,  glanced 
upward  and  beheld  his  friend,  the  Sergeant, 
beaming  down  upon  him  across  the  whittled 
banister  rail. 

"Hello,  Jimmy!"  he  called  in  his  high  whine. 

"Hello,  yourself!"  answered  the  Sergeant. 
"Been  somewheres  or  jest  travellin'  round?" 

"Been  somewheres,"  vouchsafed  the  newly 
returned;  "been  up  at  Livingstonport  all  week, 
settin'  as  special  judge  in  place  of  Judge  Giv 
en.  He's  laid  up  in  bed  with  a  tech  of  sum 
mer  complaint  and  I  went  up  to  git  his  docket 
cleaned  up  fur  him.  He's  better  now,  but  still 
puny." 

"You  got  back  ag'in  in  time  to  light  right 
spang  in  the  middle  of  a  warm  spell,"  said 
Sergeant  Bagby. 

"Well,"  stated  Judge  Priest,  "it  ain't  been 
exactly  whut  you'd  call  chilly  up  the  river, 
neither.  The  present  thaw  appears  to  be  gin- 
eral  throughout  this  section  of  the  country." 
He  waved  a  plump  arm  in  farewell  and  slowly 

[14] 


EX-FIGHTIN'    BILLY 


departed  from  view  beyond  the  side  wall  of 
the  boat-store. 

"Looks  like  Judge  Priest  manages  to  take 
on  a  little  more  flesh  every  year  he  lives,"  said 
the  Sergeant,  who  was  himself  no  lightweight, 
addressing  the  remark  in  my  direction.  "You 
wouldn't  scursely  think  it  to  see  him  waddlin' 
'long,  atotin'  all  that  meat  on  his  bones;  but 
once't  upon  a  time  he  was  mighty  near  ez  slim 
ez  his  own  ramrod  and  was  commonly  known 
ez  little  Fightin'  Billy.  You  wouldn't,  now, 
would  you?" 

The  question  I  disregarded.  It  was  the  dis 
closure  he  had  bared  which  appealed  to  my 
imagination  and  fired  my  curiosity.  I  said: 

"Mr.  Bagby,  I  never  knew  anybody  ever 
called  Judge  Priest  that?" 

"No,  you  natchelly  wouldn't,"  said  the  Ser 
geant — "not  onless  you'd  mebbe  overheared 
some  of  us  old  fellers  talkin'  amongst  ourselves 
sometimes,  with  no  outsiders  present.  It 
wouldn't  hardly  be  proper,  ever'thing  consid 
ered,  to  be  referrin'  in  public  to  the  presidin' 
judge  of  the  first  judicial  district  of  the  State 
of  Kintucky  by  sech  a  name  ez  that.  Besides 
which,  he  ain't  little  any  more.  And  then, 
there's  still  another  reason." 

"How  did  they  ever  come  to  call  him  that 
in  the  first  place?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  young  man,  it  makes  quite  a  tale," 
said  the  Sergeant.  With  an  effort  he  hauled 
out  his  big  silver  watch,  looked  at  its  face,  and 

[15] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

then  wedged  it  back  into  a  hidden  recess  under 
one  of  the  overlapping  creases  of  his  waistband. 

"He  acquired  that  there  title  at  Shiloh,  in 
the  State  of  Tennessee,  and  by  his  own  request 
he  parted  from  it  some  three  years  and  four 
months  later  on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande 
River,  in  the  Republic  of  Mexico,  I  bein'  pres 
ent  in  pusson  on  both  occasions.  But  ef  you've 
got  time  to  listen  I  reckin  I've  got  jest  about 
the  time  to  tell  it  to  you." 

"Yes,  sir — if  you  please."  With  eagerness, 
I  hitched  my  cane-bottomed  chair  along  the 
porch  floor  to  be  nearer  him.  And  then  as  he 
seemed  not  to  have  heard  my  assent,  I  under 
took  to  prompt  him.  "Er — what  were  you  and 
Judge  Priest  doing  down  in  Mexico,  Mr. 
Bagby?" 

"Tryin'  to  git  out  of  the  United  States  of 
America  fur  one  thing."  A  little  grin,  almost 
a  shamefaced  grin,  I  thought,  broke  his  round 
moist  face  up  into  fat  wrinkles.  He  puckered 
his  eyes  in  thought,  looking  out  across  the  lan 
guid  tawny  river  toward  the  green  towhead  in 
midstream  and  the  cottonwoods  on  the  far 
bank,  a  mile  and  more  away.  "But  I  don't 
marvel  much  that  you  never  heared  the  full  cir 
cumstances  before.  Our  bein'  down  in  Mexico 
together  that  time  is  a  fact  we  never  adver 
tised  'round  for  common  consumption — neither 
one  of  us." 

He  withdrew  his  squinted  gaze  from  the  hot 
vista  of  shores  and  water  and  swung  his  body 

He] 


BILLY 

about  to  face  me,  thereafter  punctuating  his 
narrative  with  a  blunted  forefinger. 

"My  command  was  King's  Hell  Hounds. 
There  ought  to  be  a  book  written  some  of  these 
days  about  whut  all  King's  Hell  Hounds  done  en- 
durin'  of  the  unpleasantness — it'd  make  mighty 
excitin'  readin'.  But  Billy  and  a  right  smart 
chance  of  the  other  boys  frum  this  place,  they 
served  throughout  with  Company  B  of  the  Old 
Regiment  of  mounted  infantry.  Most  of  the 
time  frum  sixty-one  to  sixty-five  I  wasn't 
throwed  with  'em,  but  jest  before  the  end  came 
we  were  all  consolidated — whut  there  was  re- 
mainin'  of  us — under  General  Nathan  Bedford 
Forrest  down  in  Mississippi.  Fur  weeks  and 
months  before  that,  we  knowed  it  was  a  hope 
less  fight  we  were  wagin',  but  somehow  we  jest 
kept  on.  I  reckin  we'd  sort  of  got  into  the 
fightin'  habit.  Fellers  do,  you  know,  some 
times,  when  the  circumstances  are  favourable, 
ez  in  this  case. 

"Well,  here  one  mornin'  in  April,  came  the 
word  frum  Virginia  that  Richmond  had  fallen, 
and  right  on  top  of  that,  that  Marse  Robert  had 
had  to  surrender.  They  said,  too,  that  Sher 
man  had  Johnston  penned  off  somewheres 
down  in  the  Carolinas,  we  didn't  know  exactly 
where,  and  that  Johnston  would  have  to  give 
up  before  many  days  passed.  In  fact,  he  had 
already  give  up  a  week  before  we  finally  heared 
about  it.  So  then  accordin'  to  our  best  infor- 

mation  and  belief,  that  made  us  the  last  body 
__. 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

of  organised  Confederates  on  the  east  bank  of 
the  Mississippi  River.  That's  a  thing  I  was 
always  mighty  proud  of.  I'm  proud  of  it 

yit.  " 

"All  through  them  last  few  weeks  the  army 
was  dwindlin'  away  and  dwindlin'  away. 
Every  mornin'  at  roll-call  there'd  be  a  few 
more  absentees.  Don't  git  me  wrong — I 
wouldn't  call  them  boys  deserters.  They'd 
stuck  that  long,  doin'  their  duty  like  men,  but 
they  knowed  good  and  well — in  fact  we  all 
knowed — 'twas  only  a  question  of  time  till  even 
Forrest  would  have  to  quit  before  overpowerin' 
odds  and  we'd  be  called  on  to  lay  down  the 
arms  we'd  toted  fur  so  long.  Their  families 
needed  'em,  so  they  jest  quit  without  sayin' 
anything  about  it  to  anybody  and  went  on 
back  to  their  homes.  This  was  specially  true 
of  some  that  lived  in  that  district. 

"But  with  the  boys  frum  up  this  way  it  was 
different.  In  a  way  of  speakin',  we  didn't  have 
no  homes  to  go  back  to.  Our  State  had  been 
in  Northern  hands  almost  frum  the  beginnin' 
and  some  of  us  had  prices  on  our  heads  right 
that  very  minute  on  account  of  bein'  branded 
ez  guerrillas.  Which  was  a  lie.  But  folks  didn't 
always  stop  to  sift  out  the  truth  then.  They 
were  prone  to  shoot  you  first  and  go  into  the 
merits  of  the  case  afterward.  Anyway,  betwixt 
us  and  home  there  was  a  toler'ble  thick  hedge  of 
Yankee  soldiers — in  fact  several  thick  hedges. 
You  know  they  called  one  of  our  brigades  the 
[18] 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 

Orphan  Brigade.  And  there  were  good  reasons 
fur  callin'  it  so — more  ways  than  one. 

"I  ain't  never  goin'  to  furgit  the  night  of  the 
fifth  of  May.  Somehow  the  tidin's  got  round 
amongst  the  boys  that  the  next  mornin'  the 
order  to  surrender  was  goin'  to  be  issued.  The 
Yankee  cavalry  general,  Wilson — and  he  was 
a  good  peart  fighter,  too — -had  us  completely 
blocked  off  to  the  North  and  the  East,  but  the 
road  to  the  Southwest  was  still  open  ef  anybody 
cared  to  foller  it.  So  that  night  some  of  us 
held  a  little  kind  of  a  meetin' — about  sixty  of 
us — mainly  Kintuckians,  but  with  a  sprinklin' 
frum  other  States,  too. 

"Ez  I  remember,  there  wasn't  a  contrary 
voice  raised  when  'twas  suggested  we  should 
try  to  make  it  acrost  the  big  river  and  j'ine  in 
under  Kirby  Smith,  who  still  had  whut  was  left 
of  the  Army  of  the  Trans-Mississippi. 

"Billy  Priest  made  the  principal  speech. 
'Boys,'  he  says,  'South  Carolina  may  a-started 
this  here  war,  but  Kintucky  has  undertook  the 
contract  to  close  it  out.  Somewheres  out  yon 
der  in  Texas  they  tell  me  there's  yit  a  consid'ble 
stretch  of  unconquered  Confederate  territory. 
Speakin'  fur  myself  I  don't  believe  I'm  ever 
goin'  to  be  able  to  live  comfortable  an*  recon 
ciled  under  any  other  flag  than  the  flag  we've 
fit  to  uphold.  Let's  us-all  go  see  ef  we  can't 
find  the  place  where  our  flag  still  floats.' 

"So  we  all  said  we'd  go.    Then  the  question 

ariz  of  namin'  a  leader.     There  was  one  man 

_  ___ 


THOSE     TIMES      AND     THESE 

that  had  been  a  captain  and  a  couple  more  that 
had  been  lieutenants,  but,  practically  unani 
mously,  we  elected  little  Billy  Priest.  Even  ef 
he  was  only  jest  a  private  in  the  ranks  we  all 
knowed  it  wasn't  fur  lack  of  chances  to  go 
higher.  After  Shiloh,  he'd  refused  a  commis 
sion  and  ag'in  after  Harts ville.  So,  in  lessen 
no  time  a-tall,  that  was  settled,  too. 

"Bright  and  early  next  day  we  started,  takin' 
our  guns  and  our  hosses  with  us.  They  were 
our  hosses  anyway;  mainly  we'd  borrowed  'em 
off  Yankees,  or  anyways,  off  Yankee  sympathis 
ers  on  our  last  raid  Northward  and  so  that  made 
'em  our  pussonal  property,  the  way  we  figgered 
it  out.  'Tennyrate  we  didn't  stop  to  argue  the 
matter  with  nobody  whutsoever.  We  jest 
packed  up  and  we  put  out — and  we  had  almighty 
little  to  pack  up,  lemme  tell  you. 

"Ez  we  rid  off  we  sung  a  song  that  was  be- 
ginnin'  to  be  right  fashionable  that  spring 
purty  near  every  place  below  Mason  and  Dix- 
on's  line;  and  all  over  the  camp  the  rest  of  the 
boys  took  it  up  and  made  them  old  woodlands 
jest  ring  with  it.  It  was  a  kind  of  a  farewell  to 
us.  The  fust  verse  was  likewise  the  chorus  and 
it  run  something  like  this: 

Oh,  I'm  a  good  old  rebel,  that's  jest  whut  I  am; 
And  fur  this  land  of  freedom  I  do  not  give  a  dam', 
I'm  glad  I  fit  ag'in  her,  I  o^ly  wish't  we'd  won, 
And  I   don't  ax  your   pardon   fur   anything   I've 
done. 

__ 


"And  so  on  and  so  forth.  There  were  sev 
eral  more  verses  all  expressin'  much  the  same 
trend  of  thought,  and  all  entirely  in  accordance 
with  our  own  feelin's  fur  the  time  bein'. 

"Well,  boy,  I  reckin  there  ain't  no  use  wastin' 
time  describin'  the  early  stages  of  that  there 
pilgrimage.  We  went  ridin'  along  livin'  on  the 
land  and  doin'  the  best  we  could.  We  were 
young  fellers,  all  of  us,  and  it  was  springtime 
in  Dixie — you  know  whut  that  means — and  in 
spite  of  everything,  some  of  the  springtime  got 
into  our  hearts,  too,  and  drove  part  of  the  bit 
terness  out.  The  country  was  all  scarified  with 
the  tracks  of  war,  but  nature  was  doin'  her 
level  best  to  cover  up  the  traces  of  whut  man 
had  done.  People  along  our  route  had  mighty 
slim  pickin's  fur  themselves,  but  the  sight  of  an 
old  grey  jacket  was  still  mighty  dear  to  most 
of  'em  and  they  divided  whut  little  they  had 
with  us  and  wish't  they  had  more  to  give  us. 
We  didn't  need  much  at  that — a  few  meals  of 
vittles  fur  the  men  and  a  little  fodder  fur  our 
hosses  and  we'd  be  satisfied.  We'd  reduced 
slow  starvation  to  an  exact  science  long  before 
that.  Every  man  in  the  outfit  was  hard  ez 
nails  and  slim  ez  a  blue  racer. 

"Whut  Northern  forces  there  was  East  of  the 
river  we  dodged.  In  fact  we  didn't  have  oc 
casion  to  pull  our  shootin'-irons  but  once't,  and 
that  was  after  we'd  cros't  over  into  Louisiana. 
There  wasn't  any  organised  military  force  to 
regulate  things  and  in  the  back  districts  civil 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

government  had  mighty  near  vanished  alto 
gether.  People  had  went  back  to  fust  princi 
ples — wild,  reckless  fust  principles  they  were, 
too.  One  day  an  old  woman  warned  us  there 
was  a  gang  of  bushwhackers  operatin'  down  the 
road  a  piece  in  the  direction  we  were  headin' — 
a  mixed  crowd  of  deserters  frum  both  sides,  she 
said,  who'd  jined  in  with  some  of  the  local  bad 
characters  and  were  preyin'  on  the  country, 
harryin'  the  defenceless,  and  terrorism'  women 
and  children  and  raisin'  hob  ginerally.  She 
advised  us  that  we'd  better  give  'em  a  wide 
berth. 

"But  Billy  Priest  he  thro  wed  out  scouts  and 
located  the  gang,  and  jest  before  sunrise  next 
mornin'  we  dropped  in  on  'em,  takin'  'em  by 
surprise  in  the  camp  they'd  rigged  up  in  a  live- 
oak  thicket  in  the  midst  of  a  stretch  of  cypress 
slashes. 

"And  when  the  excitement  died  down  ag'in, 
quite  a  number  of  them  bushwhackers  had 
quit  whackin'  permanently  and  the  rest  of  'em 
were  tearin'  off  through  the  wet  woods  won- 
derin',  between  jumps,  whut  had  hit  'em.  Ez 
fur  our  command,  we  accumulated  a  consid 
erable  passel  of  plunder  and  supplies  and  a 
number  of  purty  fair  hosses,  and  went  on  our 
way  rejoicin'.  We  hadn't  lost  a  man,  and  only 
one  man  wounded. 

"When  we  hit  the  Texas  border,  news  was 

waitin'  fur  us.     They  told  us  ef  we  aimed  to 

ketch  up  with  the  last  remainders  of  the  army 

[22]  " 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 


we'd  have  to  hurry,  because  Smith  and  Shelby, 
with  whut  was  left  of  his  Missoury  outfit,  and 
Sterlin'  Price  and  Hindman  with  some  of  his 
Arkansaw  boys  and  a  right  smart  sprinklin'  of 
Texans  had  already  pulled  up  stakes  and  were 
headed  fur  old  Mexico,  where  the  natives  were 
in  the  enjoyable  midst  of  one  of  their  regular 
revolutions. 

"With  the  French  crowd  and  part  of  the 
Mexicans  to  help  him,  the  Emperor  Maxi 
milian  was  tryin'  to  hang  onto  his  onsteady  and 
topplin'  throne,  whilst  the  Republikins  or  Lib 
erals,  as  they  called  themselves,  were  tryin' 
with  might  and  main  to  shove  him  off  of  it. 
Ef  a  feller  jest  natchelly  honed  fur  an  oppor 
tunity  to  indulge  a  fancy  fur  active  hostilities, 
Mexico  seemed  to  offer  a  very  promisin'  field 
of  endeavour. 

"It  didn't  take  us  long  to  make  up  our  minds 
whut  course  we'd  follow.  Billy  Priest  put  the 
motion.  'Gentlemen,'  he  says,  'it  would  seem 
the  Southern  Confederacy  is  bent  and  deter 
mined  on  gittin'  clear  out  frum  under  the  shad- 
der  of  the  Yankee  government.  It  has  been 
moved  and  seconded  that  we  foller  after  her 
no  matter  where  she  goes.  All  in  favour  of  that 
motion  will  respond  by  sayin'  Aye — contrary- 
wise,  No.  The  Ayes  seem  to  have  it  and  the 
Ayes  do  have  it  and  it  is  so  ordered,  unani 
mously.  By  fours!  Forward,  march!' 

"That  happened  in  the  town  of  Corsicana  in 
the  early  summer-time  of  the  year.  So  we 
[23] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

went  along  acrost  the  old  Lone  Star  State, 
headin'  mighty  nigh  due  West,  passin'  through 
Waco  and  Austin  and  San  Antonio,  and  bein' 
treated  mighty  kindly  by  the  people  whereso 
ever  we  passed.  And  ez  we  went,  one  of  the 
boys  that  had  poetic  leanin's,  he  made  up  a 
new  verse  to  our  song.  Let's  see,  son,  ef  I  kin 
remember  it  now  after  all  these  years." 

The  Sergeant  thought  a  bit  and  then  lifting 
his  voice  in  a  quavery  cadence  favoured  me  with 
the  following  gem: 

I  won't  be  reconstructed;  I'm  better  now  than 

them; 

And  fur  a  carpet-bagger  I  don't  give  a  dam; 
So  I'm  off  fur  the  frontier,  fast  ez  I  kin  go, 
I'll  purpare  me  a  weepon  and  head  fur  Mexico. 

"It  was  the  middle  of  July  and  warm  enough 
to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  most  exactin' 
when  we  reached  the  Rio  Grande,  to  find  out 
Shelby's  force  had  done  crossed  over  after 
buryin'  their  battle-flag  in  the  middle  of  the 
river,  wropped  up  in  a  rock  to  hold  it  down. 
On  one  side  was  cactus  and  greasewood  and  a 
waste  of  sandy  land,  that  was  already  back  in 
the  Union  or  mighty  soon  would  be.  On  the 
other  side  was  more  cactus  and  more  grease- 
wood  and  more  sandy  loam,  but  in  a  different 
country.  So,  after  spendin'  a  few  pleasant 
hours  at  the  town  of  Eagle  Pass,  we  turn't  our 
backs  to  one  country  and  cros't  over  to  the 
other,  alookin*  fur  the  Confederacy  wherever 


EX-FIGHTIN'    BILLY 


she  might  be.  I  figgered  it  out  I  was  tellin'  the 
United  States  of  America  good-by  furever.  I 
seem  to  remember  that  quite  a  number  of  us 
kept  peerin'  back  over  our  shoulders  toward 
the  Texas  shore.  They  tell  me  the  feller  that 
wrote  'Home  Sweet  Home'  didn't  have  any 
home  to  go  to  but  he  writ  the  song  jest  the 
same.  Nobody  didn't  say  nothin',  though, 
about  weakenin'  or  turnin'  back. 

"Very  soon  after  we  hit  Mexican  soil  we  run 
into  one  of  the  armies — a  Liberal  army,  this 
one  was,  of  about  twelve  hundred  men,  and 
its  name  suited  it  to  a  T.  The  officers  were 
liberal  about  givin'  orders  and  the  men  were 
equally  liberal  about  makin'  up  their  minds 
whether  or  not  they'd  obey.  Also,  ez  we  very 
quickly  discovered,  the  entire  kit  and  caboodle 
of  'em  were  very  liberal  with  reguards  to  other 
folks'  property  and  other  folks'  lives.  We'd 
acquired  a  few  careless  ideas  of  our  own  con- 
cernin'  the  acquirin'  of  contraband  plunder 
durin'  the  years  immediately  precedin',  but 
some  of  the  things  we  seen  almost  ez  soon  ez 
we'd  been  welcomed  into  the  hospitable  but 
smelly  midst  of  that  there  Liberal  army,  proved 
to  us  that  alongside  these  fellers  we  were  merely 
whut  you  might  call  amatoors  in  the  confis- 
catin'  line. 

"I  wish't  I  had  the  words  to  describe  the 
outfit  so  ez  you  could  see  it  the  way  I  kin  see 
it  this  minute.  This  purticular  army  was  made 
up  of  about  twelve  hundred  head,  includin' 

__ 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

common  soldiers.  I  never  saw  generals  runnin' 
so  many  to  the  acre  before  in  my  life.  The 
Confederacy  hadn't  been  exactly  destitute  in 
that  respect  but — shuckins! — down  here  you 
bumped  into  a  brigadier  every  ten  feet.  There 
was  a  consider'ble  sprinklin'  of  colonels  and 
majors  and  sech,  too;  and  here  and  there  a 
lonesome  private.  Ef  you  seen  a  dark  brown 
scarycrow  wearin'  fur  a  uniform  about  enough 
rags  to  pad  a  crutch  with,  with  a  big  sorry  straw 
hat  on  his  head  and  his  feet  tied  up  in  bull  hides 
with  his  bare  toes  peepin'  coyly  out,  and  ef  he 
was  totin'  a  flint  lock  rifle,  the  chances  were 
he'd  be  a  common  soldier.  But  ef  in  addition 
to  the  rest  of  his  regalia  he  had  a  pair  of  epau 
lettes  sewed  onto  his  shoulders  you  mout  safely 
assume  you  were  in  the  presence  of  a  general 
or  something  of  that  nature.  I  ain't  exagger- 
atin' — much.  I'm  only  tryin'  to  make  you  git 
the  picture  of  it  in  your  mind. 

"Well,  they  received  us  very  kindly  and 
furnished  us  with  rations,  sech  ez  they  were — 
mostly  peppers  and  beans  and  a  kind  of  batter- 
cake  that's  much  in  favour  in  them  parts,  made 
out  of  corn  pounded  up  fine  and  mixed  with 
water  and  baked  ag'inst  a  hot  rock.  Ef  a  man 
didn't  keer  fur  the  peppers,  he  could  fall  back 
on  the  beans,  thus  insurin'  him  a  change  of 
diet,  and  the  corn  batter-cakes  were  certainly 
right  good-tastin'. 

"Some  few  of  our  dark-complected  friends 
kin   make   a  stagger  at   speakin*   English,   so 
["26"] 


frum  one  of  'em  Billy  inquires  where  is  the 
Confederacy?  They  explains  that  it  has  moved 
on  further  South  but  tells  us  that  first  General 
Shelby  sold  'em  the  artillery  he'd  fetched  with 
him  that  fur  to  keep  it  frum  fallin'  into  the 
Yankees'  hands.  Sure  enough  there're  the  guns 
—four  brass  field-pieces.  Two  of  'em  are 
twelve-pounders  and  the  other  two  are  four- 
teen-pounders.  The  Mexicans  are  very  proud 
of  their  artillery  and  appear  to  set  much  store 
by  it. 

"Well,  that  evenin'  their  commandin'  gen 
eral  comes  over  to  where  we've  made  camp, 
accompanied  by  his  coffee-coloured  staff,  and 
through  an  interpreter  he  suggests  the  advis 
ability  of  our  j'inin'  in  with  them,  he  promisin' 
good  pay  and  offerin'  to  make  us  all  high-up 
officers.  He  seems  right  anxious  to  have  us  en 
list  with  his  glorious  forces  right  away.  In  a 
little  while  it  leaks  out  why  he's  so  generous 
with  his  promises  and  so  wishful  to  see  us  en 
rolled  beneath  his  noble  banner.  He's  expectin' 
a  call  inside  of  the  next  forty-eight  hours  frum 
the  Imperials  that're  reported  to  be  movin'  up 
frum  the  South,  nearly  two  thousand  strong, 
with  the  intention  of  givin'  him  battle. 

"Billy  Priest,  speakin'  fur  all  of  us,  says  he'll 
give  him  an  answer  later.  So  the  commandin' 
general  conceals  his  disappointment  the  best 
he  kin  and  retires  on  back  to  his  own  head 
quarters,  leavin'  us  to  discuss  the  proposition 
amongst  ourselves.  Some  of  the  boys  favour 
[27] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

throwin'  in  with  the  Liberals  right  away,  bein' 
hongry  fur  a  fight,  I  reckin,  or  else  sort  of  daz 
zled  by  the  idea  of  becomin'  colonels  and  ma 
jors  overnight.  But  Billy  suggests  that  mebbe 
we'd  better  jest  sort  of  hang  'round  and  ob 
serve  the  conduct  and  deportment  of  these 
here  possible  feller  warriors  of  our'n  whilst 
they're  under  hostile  fire.  'Speakin'  pusson- 
ally,'  he  says,  'I  must  admit  I  ain't  greatly  at 
tracted  to  them  ez  they  present  themselves  to 
the  purview  of  my  gaze  in  their  ca'mmer  hours. 
Before  committin'  ourselves,  s'posen  we  stand 
by  and  take  a  few  notes  on  how  they  behave 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy.  Then, 
there'll  be  abundant  time  to  decide  whether 
we  want  to  stay  a  while  with  these  fellers  or  go 
long  about  our  business  of  lookin'  fur  the 
Southern  Confederacy.' 

"That  sounded  like  good  argument,  so  we 
let  Billy  have  his  way  about  it,  and  we  settled 
down  to  wait.  We  didn't  have  long  to  wait. 
The  next  day  about  dinner-time,  here  come  the 
Imperial  army,  advancin'  in  line  of  battle.  The 
Liberals  moved  out  acrost  the  desert  to  meet 
'em  and  we-all  mounted  and  taken  up  a  position 
on  a  little  rise  close  at  hand,  to  observe  the  pur- 
ceedin's. 

"Havin'  had  consider 'ble  experience  in  sech 
affairs,  I  must  say  I  don't  believe  I  ever  wit 
nessed  such  a  dissa'pintin'  battle  ez  that  one 
turn't  out  to  be.  The  prevailin'  notion  on  both 
sides  seemed  to  be  that  the  opposin'  forces 

__          ___. 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 

should  march  bravely  toward  one  another  ontil 
they  got  almost  within  long  range  and  then  fur 
both  gangs  to  halt  ez  though  by  simultaneous 
impulse,  and  fire  at  will,  with  nearly  everybody 
shootin'  high  and  wide  and  furious.  When 
this  had  continued  till  it  become  mutually  bore- 
some,  one  side  would  charge  with  loud  cheers, 
ashootin'  ez  it  advanced,  but  prudently  slowin' 
down  and  finally  haltin'  before  it  got  close 
enough  to  inflict  much  damage  upon  the  foe  or 
to  suffer  much  damage  either.  Havin'  accom 
plished  this,  the  advancin'  forces  would  fall 
back  in  good  order  and  then  it  was  time  fur  the 
other  side  to  charge.  I  must  say  this  in  justice 
to  all  concerned — there  was  a  general  inclina 
tion  to  obey  the  rules  ez  laid  down  fur  the  prose 
cution  of  the  kind  of  warfare  they  waged.  Ez 
a  usual  thing,  I  s'pose  it  would  be  customary 
fur  the  battle  to  continue  ez  described  until  the 
shades  of  night  descended  and  then  each  army 
would  return  to  its  own  base,  claimin'  the  vic 
tory.  But  on  this  occasion  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  surprise  occurred  that  wasn't  down 
on  the  books  a-tall. 

"Right  down  under  the  little  rise  where  us 
fellers  sat  waitin',  stood  them  four  guns  that 
the  Liberals  bought  off  of  Shelby.  Ef  brass 
cannons  have  feelin's — and  I  don't  know  no 
reason  why  they  shouldn't  have — them  can 
nons  must  have  felt  like  something  was  radically 
wrong.  The  crews  were  loadin'  and  firin'  and 
swabbin*  and  loadin'  and  firin'  ag'in — all  jest  ez 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

busy  ez  beavers.  But  they  plum  overlooked 
one  triflin'  detail  which  the  military  experts 
have  always  reguarded  ez  bein'  more  or  less 
essential  to  successful  artillery  operations. 
They  forgot  to  aim  in  the  general  direction  at 
the  enemy.  They  done  a  plentiful  lot  of 
cheerin',  them  gun  crews  did,  and  they  burnt 
up  a  heap  of  powder  and  they  raised  a  power 
ful  racket  and  hullabaloo,  but  so  fur  ez  visible 
results  went  they  mout  jest  ez  well  have  been 
bombardin'  the  clear  blue  sky  of  heaven. 

"Well,  fur  quite  a  spell  we  stayed  up  there 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  watchin'  that  there  en 
gagement.  Only  you  couldn't  properly  call  it 
an  engagement — by  rights  it  wasn't  nothin' 
but  a  long  distance  flirtation.  Now  several  of 
our  boys  had  served  one  time  or  another  with 
the  guns.  There  was  one  little  feller  named 
Vince  Hawley,  out  of  Lyon's  Battery,  that  had 
been  one  of  the  crack  gunners  of  the  Western 
Army.  He  held  in  ez  long  ez  he  could  and  then 
he  sings  out: 

"'Boys,  do  you  know  whut's  ailin'  them 
pore  mistreated  little  field-pieces  down  yon 
der?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  They're  Confederate 
guns,  born,  bred,  and  baptised;  and  they're 
cravin'  fur  Confederate  hands  to  pet  'em.  It 
mout  be  this'll  be  the  last  chance  a  Southern 
soldier  will  ever  git  to  fire  a  Southern  gun. 
Who'll  go  'long  with  me  fur  one  farewell  sashay 
with  our  own  cannons?' 

"In  another  minute  eight  or  ten  of  our  com- 
[so] 


EX-FIGHTIN 

mand  were  pilin'  off  their  horses  and  tearin'down 
that  little  hill  behind  Vince  Hawley  and  bustin' 
in  amongst  the  Mexies  and  laying  violent  but 
affectionate  hands  on  one  of  the  twelve-pound 
ers.  Right  off,  the  natives  perceived  whut  our 
fellers  wanted  to  do  and  they  fell  back  and 
gave  'em  elbow-room.  Honest,  son,  it  seemed 
like  that  field-piece  recognised  her  own  kind  of 
folks,  even  'way  off  there  on  the  aidge  of  a 
Mexican  desert,  and  strove  to  respond  to  their 
wishes.  The  boys  thro  wed  a  charge  into  her 
and  Hawley  sighted  her  and  then — kerboom — 
off  she  went! 

"Off  the  Imperial  forces  went,  too.  The 
charge  landed  right  in  amongst  their  front 
ranks  ez  they  were  advancin' — it  happened  to 
be  their  turn  to  charge — takin'  'em  absolutely 
by  surprise.  There  was  a  profound  scatteration 
and  then  spontaneous-like  the  enemy  seemed  to 
come  to  a  realisation  of  the  fact  that  the  other 
side  had  broke  all  the  rules  and  was  actually 
tryin'  to  do  'em  a  real  damage.  With  one  ac 
cord  they  turned  tail  and  started  in  the  general 
direction  of  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  Ef  they 
kept  up  the  rate  of  travel  at  which  they  started, 
they  arrived  there  inside  of  a  week,  too — or 
mebbe  even  sooner.  I  s'pose  it  depended  largely 
on  whether  their  feet  held  out. 

"Hawley  and  his  gang  run  the  gun  forward 
to  the  crest  of  a  little  swale  ready  to  give  the 
retreatin'  forces  another  treatment  in  case  they 
should  rally  and  re-form,  but  a  second  dose 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

wasn't  needed.  Howsomever,  before  the  squad 
came  back,  they  scouted  acrost  the  field  to  see 
whut  execution  their  lone  charge  had  done. 
Near  to  where  the  shell  had  busted  they  gath 
ered  up  six  skeered  soldiers — fellers  that  had 
dropped  down,  skeered  but  unhurt,  when  the 
smash  come  and  had  been  layin'  there  in  a  hol 
low  in  the  ground,  fearin'  the  worst  and  hopin' 
fur  the  best.  So  they  brung  'em  back  in  with 
'em  and  turned  'em  over  to  the  Liberals  ez 
prisoners  of  war. 

"The  rest  of  us  were  canterin'  down  on  the 
flat  by  now.  We  arrived  in  time  to  observe 
that  some  of  the  victorious  Liberals  were  en 
gaged  in  lashin'  the  prisoners'  elbows  together 
with  ropes,  behind  their  backs,  and  that  whut 
looked  like  a  firin'  squad  was  linin'  up  con 
veniently  clos't  by.  Billy  Priest  went  and  lo 
cated  a  feller  that  could  interpret  after  a  fash 
ion  and  inquired  whut  was  the  idea.  The  in 
terpreter  feller  explained  that  the  idea  was  to 
line  them  six  prisoners  up  and  shoot  'em  to  death. 

"'Boys,'  says  Billy,  turnin'  to  us,  'I'm 
afeared  we'll  have  to  interfere  with  the  contem 
plated  festivalities.  Our  friends  are  too  gently- 
inclined  durin'  the  hostilities  and  too  blame' 
bloodthirsty  afterward  to  suit  me.  Let  us  bid 
an  adieu  to  'em  and  purceed  upon  our  way. 
But  first,'  he  says,  'let  us  break  into  the  picture 
long  enough  to  save  those  six  poor  devils 
standin'  over  there  in  a  row,  all  tied  up  like 
beef -critters  fur  the  butcher.' 


BILLY 

"So  we  rid  in  betwixt  the  condemned  and 
the  firm'  squad  and  by  various  devices  such  ez 
drawin'  our  carbines  and  our  six-shooters,  we 
made  plain  our  purpose.  At  that  a  wave  of 
disappointment  run  right  through  the  whole 
army.  You  could  see  it  travellin'  frum  face  to 
face  under  the  dirt  that  was  on  said  faces. 
Even  the  prisoners  seemed  a  trifle  put-out  and 
downcasted.  Later  we  found  out  why.  But 
nobody  offered  to  raise  a  hand  ag'inst  us. 

"'All  right  then/  says  Billy  Priest,  'so  fur  so 
good.  And  now  I  think  we'd  better  be  resumin' 
our  journey,  takin'  our  captives  with  us.  I've 
got  a  presentiment,'  he  says,  'that  they'd  prob 
ably  enjoy  better  health  travellin'  along  with 
us  than  they  would  stayin'  on  with  these  here 
Liberals.' 

"'How  about  them  four  field-pieces?'  says 
one  of  the  boys,  speakin'  up.  'There's  plenty 
of  hosses  to  haul  'em.  Hadn't  we  better  take 
them  along  with  us,  too?  They'll  git  awful 
lonesome  bein'  left  in  such  scurvy  company — 
poor  little  things!' 

"'No,'  says  Billy,  'I  retain  that  wouldn't 
be  right.  The  prisoners  are  our'n  by  right  of 
capture,  but  the  guns  ain't.  These  fellers 
bought  'em  off  Shelby's  brigade  and  they're  en 
titled  to  keep  'em.  But  before  we  depart,'  he 
says,  'it  mout  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  tinker  with 
'em  a  little  with  a  view  to  sort  of  puttin'  'em 
out  of  commission  fur  the  time  bein'.  Our  late 

hosts  mout  take  a  notion  to  turn  'em  on  us,  ez 

_ 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

we  are  goin'  away  frum  'em  and  there's  a  bare 
chance,'  he  says,  'that  they  might  hit  some  of 
us — by  accident.' 

"So  we  tinkered  with  the  guns  and  then  we 
moved  out  in  hollow  formation  with  the  six 
prisoners  marchin'  along  in  the  middle  and  not 
a  soul  undertaken'  to  halt  us  ez  we  went.  On 
the  whole  them  Liberals  seemed  right  pleased  to 
get  shet  of  us.  But  when  we'd  gone  along  fur  a 
mile  or  so,  one  of  the  Mexicans  flopped  down  on 
his  knees  and  begin  to  jabber.  And  then  the 
other  five  follered  suit  and  jabbered  with  him. 
After  'while  it  dawned  on  us  that  they  were 
beggin'  us  to  kill  'em  quick  and  not  torture  'em, 
they  thinkin'  we'd  only  saved  'em  frum  bein' 
shot  in  order  to  do  something  much  more  pain 
ful  to  'em  at  our  leisure.  So  then  four  or  five  of 
the  boys  dropped  down  off  their  mounts  and 
untied  'em  and  faced  'em  about  so  the  open 
country  was  in  front  of  'em  and  give  'em  a 
friendly  kick  or  two  frum  behind  ez  a  notice  to 
'em  to  be  on  their  way.  They  lit  out  into  the 
scrub  and  were  gone  the  same  ez  ef  they'd  been 
so  many  Molly  Cottontails. 

"Fur  upward  of  a  week  then,  we  moved  along, 
headin'  mighty  nigh  due  South.  Considerin' 
that  the  country  was  supposed  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  civil  war  we  saw  powerful  few  evi 
dences  of  it  ez  we  rode  through.  Life  fur  the 
humble  Mexican  appeared  to  be  waggin'  along 
about  ez  usual,  but  was  nothin'  to  brag  about,  at 
that.  We  seen  him  ploughin'  amongst  the  prey- 


BILLY 


alent  desolation  with  a  forked  piece  of  wood, 
one  fork  bein'  hitched  to  a  yoke  of  oxen  and  the 
other  fork  bein'  shod  with  a  little  strip  of  nisty 
iron.  We  seen  him  languidly  gatherin'  his 
wheat,  him  goin'  ahead  and  pullin'  it  up  out  of 
the  ground,  roots  and  all  and  pilin'  it  in  puny 
heaps,  and  then  the  women  comin'  along  behind 
him  and  tyin'  it  in  little  bunches  with  strings. 
Another  place  we  seen  him  and  his  women  folks 
threshin'  grain  by  beatin'  it  with  sticks  and  de- 
pendin'  on  the  wind  to  help  'em  winnow  the 
wheat  from  the  chaff  jest  ez  it  is  written  'twas 
done  in  the  Bible  days.  We  seen  him  in  his 
hours  of  ease,  fightin'  his  chicken-cock  against 
some  other  feller's  game-bird,  and  gamblin'  and 
scratchin'  his  flea-bites  and  the  more  we  seen  of 
him  the  less  we  seemed  to  keer  fur  him.  He 
mout  of  been  all  right  in  his  way,  but  he  wasn't 
our  kind  of  folks;  I  reckin  that  was  it. 

"And  he  repaid  the  compliment  by  not  ap- 
pearin'  to  keer  very  deeply  fur  us  strangers 
neither,  but  the  women  seemed  to  take  to  us, 
mightily.  They'd  come  out  to  us  frum  their 
little  dried  mud  cabins  bringin'  us  beans  and 
them  flat  batter-cakes  of  their 'n  and  even  some 
times  milk  and  butter.  Also  they  gave  us 
roughage  fur  our  hosses  and  wouldn't  take  pay 
fur  none  of  it,  indicatin'  by  signs  that  it  was  all 
a  free  gift.  Whut  between  the  grazin'  they  got 
and  the  dried  fodder  the  women  gave  us,  our 
hosses  took  on  flesh  and  weren't  sech  ga'nted 

crowbaits  ez  they  had  been. 

"     [35] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Seven  days  of  traversin'  that  miserable  land 
and  then,  son,  we  ran  smack  into  the  Imperial 
scouts  and  found  we'd  arrived  within  less  'en  a 
day's  march  of  the  city  of  Monterey.  Purty 
soon  out  come  a  detachment  of  cavalry  to  meet 
us  and  inquire  into  our  business  and  a  most  God- 
fursaken  lookin'  bunch  they  were,  but  with  'em 
they  had  half  a  dozen  Confederates — Missoury 
boys,  all  of  'em  exceptin'  one,  him  bein'  frum 
Louisiana;  and  these  here  Missoury  fellers  told 
us  some  news.  It  seemed  that  after  Shelby  and 
Price  and  Hindman  got  to  Monterey  their  little 
army  had  split  in  two,  most  of  its  members 
headin'  off  toward  the  City  of  Mexico  with  no 
purticular  object  in  view  so  fur  ez  anybody 
knowed  but  jest  filled  with  a  restless  cravin'  to 
stay  in  the  saddle  and  keep  movin',  and  the  rest 
strikin'  Westward  toward  the  Pacific  Coast. 

"But  about  two  hundred  of  'em  had  stayed 
behind  and  enlisted  at  Monterey,  havin'  been 
given  a  bounty  of  six  hundred  dollars  apiece 
and  a  promise  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  month 
in  pay  ef  they'd  fight  fur  Maximilian.  The  dele 
gation  that  had  rode  out  to  meet  us  now  were 
part  and  parcel  of  that  two  hundred.  They 
seemed  tickled  to  death  to  see  us  and  they 
bragged  about  the  money  they  were  gittin',  but 
ef  you  watched  'em  kind  of  clos't  you  could 
tell,  mighty  easy,  they  weren't  exactly  overjoyed 
and  carried  away  with  enthusiasm  over  their 
present  jobs.  They  told  us  in  confidence  that 
the  French  officers  in  their  army  were  fine  sol- 

__ 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 


diers  and  done  the  best  they  could  with  the 
material  they  had,  but  that  the  rank  and  file 
were  small  potatoes  and  few  in  the  hill.  In 
fact,  we  gathered  frum  remarks  let  fall  here  and 
there  that  after  servin'  ez  a  Confederate  fur  a 
period  of  years  and  fightin'  ag'inst  husky  fellers 
frum  Indiana  or  Kansas  or  Michigan  or  some- 
wheres  up  that  way,  bein'  a  soldier  of  fortune 
with  the  Imperials  and  fightin'  ag'inst  the  Lib 
erals  was,  comparatively  speakin',  a  mighty 
tame  pursuit — that  you'd  probably  live  longer 
so  doin',  but  you  wouldn't  have  anywheres  near 
the  excitement.  On  top  of  all  that,  though,  they 
extended  a  cordial  invitation  to  us  to  go  on 
back  to  Monterey  with  'em  and  enlist  under  the 
Maximilian  government. 

"Some  of  our  outfit  seemed  to  sort  of  lean 
toward  the  proposition  and  some  to  sort  of  lean 
ag'inst  it,  without  exactly  statin'  their  reasons 
why  and  wherefore.  But  amongst  us  all  there 
wasn't  a  man  but  whut  relied  mighty  implicit 
on  Billy  Priest's  judgment,  and  besides  which, 
you've  got  to  remember,  son,  that  discipline 
had  come  to  be  a  sort  of  an  ingrained  habit  with 
us.  We'd  got  used  to  lookin'  to  our  leaders  to 
show  us  the  way  and  give  us  our  orders  and  then 
we'd  try  to  obey  'em,  spite  of  hell  and  high 
water.  That's  the  way  it  had  been  with  us  for 
four  long  years  and  that's  the  way  it  still  was 
with  us.  So  under  the  circumstances,  with  sen 
timent  divided  ez  it  was,  we-all  waited  to  see 

how  Billy  Priest  felt,  because  ez  I  jest  told  you, 

__ 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

we  imposed  a  heap  of  confidence  in  his  views  on 
purty  near  any  subject  you  mout  mention.  The 
final  say-so  bein'  put  up  to  him,  he  studied  a 
little  and  then  he  said  to  the  Missoury  boys  that 
hearin'  frum  them  about  the  Confederacy  havin' 
split  up  into  pieces  had  injected  a  new  and  a 
different  aspect  into  the  case  and  in  his  belief 
it  was  a  thing  that  needed  thinkin'  over  and 
mebbe  sleepin'  on.  Accordin'ly,  ef  it  was  all 
the  same  to  them,  he'd  like  to  wait  till  next 
mornin'  before  comin'  to  a  definite  decision  and 
he  believed  that  in  this  his  associates  would  con 
cur  with  him.  That  was  agreeable  to  the  fellers 
that  had  brung  us  the  invitation,  or  ef  it  wasn't 
they  let  on  like  it  was  anyhow,  and  so  we  left 
the  matter  standin'  where  it  was  without  fur 
ther  argument  on  their  part. 

"They  told  us  good-by  and  expressed  the 
hope  that  they'd  see  us  next  day  in  Monterey 
and  then  they  rid  on  back  to  headquarters  to 
report  progress  on  the  part  of  the  committee  on 
new  members  and  to  ask  further  time,  Is'pose. 
Ez  fur  us,  we  went  into  camp  right  where  we 
was. 

"Most  of  us  suspicioned  that  after  we'd  fed 
the  hosses  and  et  our  supper  Billy  would  call  a 
sort  of  caucus  and  git  the  sense  of  the  meetin', 
but  he  didn't  take  no  steps  in  that  direction 
and  of  course  nobody  else  felt  qualified  to  do  so. 
After  a  while  the  fires  we'd  lit  to  cook  our 
victuals  on  begin  to  die  down  low  and  the  boys 
started  to  turn  in.  There  wasn't  much  talkin' 


EX-FIGHTIN'    BILLY 


or  singin',  or  skylarkin'  round,  but  a  whole  heap 
of  thinkin'  was  goin'  on — you  could  feel  it  in 
the  air.  I  was  lay  in'  there  on  the  ground  under 
my  old  ragged  blankets  with  my  saddle  fur  a 
pillow  and  the  sky  fur  my  bed  canopy,  but  I 
didn't  drop  right  off  like  I  usually  done.  I  was 
busy  ponderin'  over  in  my  mind  quite  a  number 
of  things.  I  remember  how  gash'ly  and  on- 
earthly  them  old  cactus  plants  looked,  loomin' 
up  all  'round  me  there  in  the  darkness  and  how 
strange  the  stars  looked,  a-shinin'  overhead. 
They  didn't  seem  like  the  same  stars  we'd  been 
used  to  sleepin'  under  before  we  come  on  down 
here  into  Mexico.  Even  the  new  moon  had  a 
different  look,  ez  though  it  was  another  moon  f  rum 
the  one  that  had  furnished  light  fur  us  to  go 
possum-huntin'  by  when  we  were  striplin'  boys 
growin'  up.  This  here  one  was  a  lonesome, 
strange,  furreign-lookin'  moon,  ef  you  git  my 
meanin'?  Anyhow  it  seemed  so  to  me. 

"Somebody  spoke  my  name  right  alongside 
of  me,  and  I  turn't  over  and  raised  up  my  head 
and  there  was  Billy  Priest  hunkered  down.  He 
had  a  little  scrap  of  dried  greasewood  in  his 
hand  and  he  was  scratchin'  with  it  in  the  dirt  in 
a  kind  of  an  absent-minded  way. 

"  'You  ain't  asleep  yet,  Jimmy?'  he  says  to 
me. 

"'No,'  I  says,  'I've  been  layin' here, study- 
in'.' 

"'That  so?'  he  says.  'Whut  about  in  par 
ticular?' 

[39] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"'Oh  nothin'  in  particular,'  I  says,  'jest 
study  in'.' 

"He  don't  say  anything  more  fur  a  minute; 
jest  keepin'  on  makin'  little  marks  in  the  dirt 
with  the  end  of  his  stick.  Then  he  says  to  me: 

"Jimmy,'  he  says,  'I've  been  doin'  right 
smart  thinkin'  myself. ' 

"'Have  you?'  I  says. 

; '  Yes, '  he  says,  'I  have.  I've  been  thinkin' 
that  whilst  peppers  make  quite  spicy  eatin' 
and  beans  are  claimed  to  be  very  nourishin' 
articles  of  food,  still  when  taken  to  excess  they're 
liable  to  pall  on  the  palate,  sooner  or  later. ' 

"'They  certainly  are,'  I  says. 

'"Let's  see,'  he  says.  'This  is  the  last  week 
in  July,  ain't  it?  Back  in  God's  country,  the  first 
of  the  home-grown  watermelons  oughter  be 
comin'  in  about  now,  oughten  they?  And  in 
about  another  week  from  now  they'll  be  pickin' 
those  great  big  stripedy  rattlesnake  melons 
that  grow  in  the  river  bottoms  down  below 
town,  won't  they?' 

: '  Yes,'  I  says,  '  they  will,  ef  the  season  ain't 
been  rainy  and  set  'em  back.' 

"'Let  us  hope  it  ain't,'  he  says,  and  I  could 
hear  his  stick  scratchin'  in  the  grit  of  that  desert 
land,  makin'  a  scrabblin'  itchy  kind  of  sound. 

'"Jimmy  Bagby,'  he  says,  'any  man's  liable 
to  make  a  mistake  sometimes,  but  that  don't 
necessarily  stamp  him  ez  a  fool  onlessen  he 
sticks  to  it  too  long  after  he's  found  out  it  is  a 
mistake.' 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 

'" Billy,'  I  says,  'I  can't  take  issue  with  you 
there/ 

'"F'r  instance  now,'  he  says,  'you  take  a 
remark  which  I  let  fall  some  weeks  back  touch- 
in*  on  flags.  Well  I've  been  thinkin'  that  re 
mark  over,  Jimmy,  and  I've  about  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  ef  a  man  has  to  give  up  the 
flag  he  fout  under  and  can't  have  it  no  longer, 
he  mout  in  time  come  to  be  equally  comfort 
able  in  the  shadder  of  the  flag  he  was  born 
under.  He  might  even  come  to  love  'em  both, 
mighty  sincerely — lovin'  one  fur  whut  it  meant 
to  him  once't  and  fur  all  the  traditions  and  all 
the  memories  it  stands  fur,  and  lovin'  the  other 
fur  whut  it  may  mean  to  him  now  and  whut 
it's  liable  to  mean  to  his  children  and  their 
children.' 

"'But  Billy,'  I  says,  'when  all  is  said  and 
done,  we  fit  in  defence  of  a  constitutional  prin 
ciple.' 

"You  bet  we  did,'  he  says;  'but  it's  mostly 
all  been  said  and  it's  practically  all  been  done. 
I  figger  it  out  this  way,  Jimmy.  Reguardless 
of  the  merits  of  a  given  case,  ef  a  man  fights 
fur  whut  he  thinks  is  right,  so  fur  ez  he  pus- 
sonally  is  concerned,  he  fights  fur  whut  is  right. 
I  ain't  expectin'  it  to  happen  yit  awhile,  but 
I'm  willin'  to  bet  you  something  that  in  the 
days  ahead  both  sides  will  come  to  feel  jest  that 
way  about  it  too.' 

"'Do  you  think  so,  Billy?'  I  says. 

"Jimmy,'  he  says,  'I  don't  only  think  so — 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

I  jest  natchelly  knows  so.    I  feel  it  in  my  bones.' 
"Then  I  persume  you  must  be  correct,'  I 
says. 

"He  waits  a  minute  and  then  he  says: 
"'Jimmy,'  he  says,  'I  don't  believe  I'd  ever 
make  a  success  ez  one  of  these  here  passenger- 
pigeons.  Now,  a  passenger-pigeon  ain't  got  no 
regular  native  land  of  his  own.  He  loves  one 
country  part  of  the  time  and  another  country 
part  of  the  time,  dividin'  his  seasons  betwixt 
'em.  Now  with  me  I'm  afraid  it's  different.' 

"'Billy,'  I  says,  'I've  about  re'ch  the  con 
clusion  that  I  wasn't  cut  out  to  be  a  passenger- 
pigeon,  neither.' 

"He  waits  a  minute,  me  holdin'  back  fur  him 
to  speak  and  wonderin'  whut  his  next  subject 
is  goin'  to  be.  Bill  Priest  always  was  a  master 
one  to  ramble  in  his  conversations.  After  a 
while  he  speaks,  very  pensive: 

"Jimmy,'  he  says,  'ef  a  man  was  to  git  up 
on  a  hoss,  say  to-morrow  mornin'  and  ride 
along  right  stiddy  he'd  jest  about  git  home  by 
hog-killin'  time,  wouldn't  he?' 

"Jest  about,'  I  says,  'ef  nothin'  serious  hap 
pened  to  delay  him  on  the  way.' 

"'That's  right,'  he  says,  'the  spare  ribs  and 
the  chitterlin's  would  jest  about  be  ripe  when 
he  arrove  back.' 

"I    didn't    make    no    answer    to    that — my 
mouth  was  waterin'  so  I  couldn't  speak.     Be 
sides  there  didn't  seem  to  be  nothin'  to  say. 
'The  fall  revivals  ought  to  be  startin'  up 


BILLY 

about  then,  too/  he  says,  'old  folks  gittin'  re 
ligion  all  over  ag'in  and  the  mourners'  bench 
overflowin',  and  off  in  the  back  pews  and  in 
the  dark  corners  young  folks  flirtin'  with  one 
another  and  holdin'  hands  under  cover  of  the 
hymn-books.  But  all  the  girls  we  left  behind 
us  have  probably  got  new  beaux  by  now,  don't 
you  reckin?' 

'Yes,  Billy,'  I  says,  'I  recldn  they  have 
and  I  don't  know  ez  I  could  blame  'em  much 
neither,  whut  with  us  streakin'  'way  off  down 
here  like  a  passel  of  idiots.' 

"He  gits  up  and  throws  away  his  stick. 

"'Well,  Jimmy,'  he  says,  'I'm  powerful  glad 
to  find  out  we  agree  on  so  many  topics.  Well, 
good  night,'  he  says. 

"Good  night,'  I  says,  and  then  I  rolled  over 
and  went  right  off  to  sleep.  But  before  I 
dropped  off  I  ketched  a  peep  of  Billy  Priest, 
squattin'  down  alongside  one  of  the  other  boys, 
and  doubtless  fixin'  to  read  that  other  feller's 
thoughts  like  a  book  the  same  ez  he'd  jest  been 
readin'  mine. 

"Well,  son,  the  next  mornin'  at  sun-up  we 
were  all  up,  too.  We  had  our  breakfast,  sech 
ez  it  was,  and  broke  camp  and  mounted  and 
started  off  with  Billy  Priest  ridin'  at  the  head 
of  the  column  and  me  stickin'  clos't  beside  him, 
I  didn't  know  fur  sure  wrhut  was  on  the  mind 
of  anybody  else  in  that  there  cavalcade  of  gen 
tlemen  rangers,  but  I  was  mighty  certain  about 
whut  I  aimed  to  do.  I  aimed  to  stick  with 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Billy  Priest;  that's  whut.  Strange  to  say,  no 
body  ast  any  questions  about  whut  we  were 
goin'  to  do  with  reguards  to  them  Imperalists 
waitin'  there  fur  us  in  Monterey.  You  never 
saw  such  a  silent  lot  of  troopers  in  your  life. 
There  wasn't  no  singin'  nor  laughin'  and 
mighty  little  talkin'.  But  fur  half  an  hour  or 
so  there  was  some  good,  stiddy  lopin'. 

"Presently  one  of  the  boys  pulled  out  of  line 
and  spurred  up  alongside  of  our  chief. 

'"S'cuse  me,  commander,'  he  says,  'but  it 
begins  to  look  to  me  like  we  were  back  trackin' 
on  our  own  trail.' 

"Billy  looks  at  him,  grinnin'  a  little  through 
his  whiskers.  We  all  had  whiskers  on  our 
faces,  or  the  startin's  of  'em. 

"'Bless  my  soul,  I  believe  you're  right!'  says 
Billy.  'Why,  you've  got  the  makin's  of  a 
scout  in  you.' 

"'But  look  here,'  says  the  other  feller,  still 
sort  of  puzzled-like,  'that  means  we're  headin' 
due  North,  don't  it?' 

'"It  means  I'm  headin'  North,'  says  Billy, 
and  at  that  he  quit  grinnin'.  'But  you,  nor 
no  one  else  in  this  troop  don't  have  to  fol- 
ler  along  onlessen  you're  minded  so  to  do. 
Every  man  here  is  a  free  agent  and  his  own 
boss.  And  ef  anybody  is  dissatisfied  with  the 
route  I'm  takin'  and  favours  some  other,  I'd 
like  fur  him  to  come  out  now  and  say  so.  It 
won't  take  me  more'n  thirty  seconds  to  resign 
my  leadership.' 


EX-FIGHTIN'    BILLY 


"'Oh,  that's  all  right,'  says  the  other  feller, 
'I  was  merely  astin'  the  question,  that's  all.  I 
ain't  dissatisfied.  I  voted  fur  you  ez  commander 
fur  the  entire  campaign — not  fur  jest  part  of  it. 
I  was  fur  you  when  we  elected  you,  and  I'm 
fur  you  yit.' 

"And  with  that  he  wheeled  and  racked  along 
back  to  his  place.  Purty  soon  Billy  looked 
over  his  shoulder  along  the  column  and  an  idea 
struck  him.  Not  fur  behind  him  Tom  Moss 
was  joggin'  along  with  his  old  battered  banjo 
swung  acrost  his  back.  Havin'  toted  that 
there  banjo  of  his'n  all  through  the  war  he'd 
likewise  brought  it  along  with  him  into  Mexico. 
He  had  a  mighty  pleasin'  voice,  too,  and  the 
way  he  could  sing  and  play  that  song  about 
him  bein'  a  good  old  rebel  and  not  carin'  a  dam' 
made  you  feel  that  he  didn't  care  a  dam', 
neither.  Billy  beckoned  to  him  and  Tom  rid 
up  alongside  and  Billy  whispered  something  in 
his  ear.  Tom's  face  all  lit  up  then  and  he  on- 
slung  his  banjo  fruni  over  his  shoulder  and 
throwed  one  laig  over  his  saddle-bow  and  hit 
the  strings  a  couple  of  licks  and  reared  his  head 
back  and  in  another  second  he  was  singin'  at 
the  top  of  his  voice.  But  this  time  he  wasn't 
singin'  the  song  about  bein'  a  good  old  rebel. 
He  was  singin'  the  one  that  begins: 

'The  sun  shines  bright  on  my  Old  Kintucky  Home; 

'Tis  Summer,  the  darkies  are  gay, 
The  corn  tops  are  ripe  and  the  medders  are  in  bloom, 

And  the  birds  make  music  all  the  day.* 

[  45  1 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

"111  another  minute  everybody  else  was 
singin',  too — singin'  and  gallopin'.  Son,  you 
never  in  your  whole  life  seen  so  many  hairy, 
ragged,  rusty  fellers  on  hoss-back  a-tearin' 
along  through  the  dust  of  a  strange  land,  actin' 
like  they  were  all  in  a  powerful  hurry  to  git 
somewheres  and  skeered  the  gates  would  be 
shut  before  they  arrived.  Boy,  listen:  the 
homesickness  jest  popped  out  through  my 
pores  like  perspiration. 

"It  taken  us  all  of  seven  days  to  git  frum 
the  border  acros't  that  long  stretch  of  waste 
to  within  a  day's  ride  of  the  city  of  Monterey. 
It  only  taken  us  four  and  a  half  to  git  back 
ag'in  to  the  border,  the  natives  standin'  by  to 
watch  us  as  we  tore  on  past  'em.  The  sun  was 
still  several  hours  high  on  the  evenin'  of  the 
fifth  day  when  we  come  in  sight  of  the  Rio 
Grande  River;  and  I  don't  ever  seem  to  recall 
a  stretch  of  muddy  yaller  water  that  looked  so 
grateful  to  my  eyes  ez  that  one  looked. 

"We  come  canterin'  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  all  of  us  bein'  plum'  jaded  and  mighty 
travel- worn.  And  there,  right  over  yond'  on 
the  fur  bank  we  could  see  the  peaky  tops  of 
some  army  tents  standin'  in  rows  and  we 
heared  the  notes  of  a  bugle,  soundin'  mighty 
sweet  and  clear  in  that  still  air.  And  it  dawned 
on  us  that  by  a  strange  coincidence  whut 
wouldn't  be  liable  to  happen  once't  in  a  dozen 
years  had  happened  in  our  purticular  case — 
that  the  United  States  Government,  ez  repre- 


BILLY 

sen  ted  by  a  detachment  of  its  military  forces, 
had  moved  down  to  the  line  at  a  point  almost 
opposite  to  the  place  where  we  aimed  to  cross 
back  over. 

"I  ain't  sure  yit  whut  it  was — it  mout  a-been 
the  first  sight  of  the  foeman  he'd  fit  ag'inst  so 
long  that  riled  him  or  it  mout  a-been  merely  a 
sort  of  sneakin'  desire  to  make  out  like  he  pur 
posed  to  hold  off  to  the  very  last  and  then  be 
won  over  by  sweet  blandishments — but  jest  ez 
we  reached  the  river,  a  big  feller  hailin'  frum 
down  in  Bland  County  rid  up  in  front  of  Billy 
Priest  and  he  says  he  wants  to  ast  him  a  ques 
tion. 

"'Fire  away/  says  Billy. 

"'Bill  Priest/  says  the  Bland  County  feller, 
'I  take  it  to  be  your  intention  to  go  back  into 
the  once't  free  but  now  conquered  state  of 
Texas?' 

"'Well,  pardner/  says  Billy  in  that  whiny 
way  of  his'n,  'you  certainly  are  a  slow  one 
when  it  comes  to  pickin'  up  current  gossip  ez  it 
flits  to  and  fro  about  the  neighbourhood.  Why 
do  you  s'pose  we've  all  been  ridin'  hell-fur- 
leather  in  this  direction  endurin'  of  the  past 
few  days  onlessen  it  was  with  that  identical  no 
tion  in  mind?' 

"Never  mind  that  now/  says  the  other  fel 
ler.  'Circumstances  alter  cases.  Don't  you 
see  that  there  camp  over  yonder  is  a  camp  of 
Yankee  soldiers?' 

'"Ef  my  suspicions  are  correct  that's  jest 

[*7] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

whut  it  is/  says  Billy  very  politely.     'Whut 
of  it?' 

"'Well,'  says  the  other  feller,  'did  it  ever 
occur  to  you  that  ef  we  cross  here  them  Yan 
kees  will  call  on  us  to  lay  down  the  arms  which 
we've  toted  so  long?  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  mebbe  they'd  even  expect  us  to  take  their 
dam'  oath  of  allegiance?' 

"'Yes,'  says  Billy  Priest,  'sence  you  bring 
up  the  subject,  it  had  occurred  to  me  that  they 
mout  do  jest  that.  And  likewise  it  has  also  oc 
curred  to  me  that  when  them  formalities  are 
concluded  they  mout  extend  the  hospitalities  of 
the  occasion  by  invitin'  us  to  set  down  with 
them  to  a  meal  of  real  human  vittles.  Why,'  he 
says,  'I  ain't  tasted  a  cup  of  genuwyne  coffee 
in  so  long  that !' 

"The  other  feller  breaks  in  on  him  before  Billy 
can  git  done  with  whut  he's  sayin ', 

' '  And  you, '  he  says,  sort  of  sneerf ul  and 
insinuatin',  'you,  here  only  some  three  or  four 
months  back  was  a  ring-leader  and  a  head-devil 
in  formin'  this  here  expedition.  You  was  goin' 
round  makin'  your  brags  that  you'd  be  the  last 
one  to  surrender — you !  And  we've  been  callin' 
you  Fightin'  Billy!  Fightin'  Billy?  Hell's 
fire!' 

"Billy  rammed  his  heels  in  his  hoss's  flanks 
and  shoved  over,  only  reinin'  up  when  he  was 
touchin'  laigs  with  the  Bland  County  feller.  A 
shiny  little  blue  light  come  into  his  eyes  and  the 
veins  in  his  neck  all  swelled  out. 
[48] 


EX-FIGHTIN         BILLY 


"  'My  esteemed  friend  and  feller-country 
man,'  says  Billy,  speakin'  plenty  slow  and  plenty 
polite,  'ef  any  gentleman  present  is  inclined  to 
make  a  pussonal  matter  of  it,  I'll  undertake  to 
endeavour  to  prove  up  my  right  to  that  there 
title  right  here  and  now.  But  ef  not,  I  wish  to 
state  fur  the  benefit  of  all  concerned  that  frum 
this  minute  I  ain't  figgerin'  on  wearin'  the  nick 
name  any  longer.  Frum  where  I  set  it  looks  to 
me  like  this  is  a  mighty  fitten  and  appropriate 
time  to  go  out  of  the  fightin'  business  and  resume 
the  placid  and  pleasant  ways  of  peace.  Frum 
now  on,  to  friends  ez  well  ez  to  strangers,  I'm 
goin'  to  be  jest  plain  William  Pitman  Priest, 
Esquire,  attorney  and  counsellor-at-law.  I  ast 
you  all  to  kindly  bear  it  in  mind.  And  further 
more  speakin'  solely  and  exclusively  fur  the  said 
William  Pitman  Priest,  I  will  state  it  is  my  in 
tention  of  gittin'  acrost  this  here  river  in  time  to 
eat  my  supper  on  the  soil  of  my  own  country. 
Ef  anybody  here  feels  like  goin'  along  with  me 
I'll  be  glad  of  his  company.  Ef  not,  I'll  bid  all 
you  good  comrades  an  affectionate  farewell  and 
jest  jog  along  over  all  by  my  lonesome  self. ' 

"But,  of  course,  when  he  said  that  last  he 
was  jest  funnin' — talkin'  to  hear  hisself  talk. 
He  knowed  good  and  well  we  would  all  go  with 
him.  And  we  did.  And  ez  fur  ez  I  know  none  of 
us  ever  had  cause  to  regret  takin'  the  step. 

"By  hurryin',  we  did  git  back  home  before 
hog-killin'  time.  And  then  after  a  spell,  when 

we'd  had  our  disabilities  removed,  some  of  us 

__ 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

like  Billy  Priest  started  runnin'  fur  office  and 
bein'  elected  with  reasonable  regularity  and 
some  of  us,  like  me,  went  into  business.  We 
lived  through  bayonet  rule  and  reconstruction 
and  carpet-baggery,  and  we  lived  to  see  all  them 
evils  die  out  and  a  better  feelin'  and  a  better 
understandin'  come  in.  We've  been  livin'  ever 
since,  sech  of  us  ez  are  still  survivin' .  I've  done 
considerable  livin'  myself.  I've  lived  to  see 
North  and  South  united.  I've  even  lived  to  see 
my  own  daughter  married  to  the  son  of  a  North 
ern  soldier,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  families 
on  both  sides.  And  so  that's  how  it  happens  I've 
got  a  grandson  that's  part  Yankee  and  part  Con 
federate  in  his  breedin'.  I  reckin  there  ain't 
nobody  that's  ez  plum'  foolish  ez  I  am  about 
that  there  little,  curly-headed  sassy  tike,  with 
out  it's  his  grandfather  on  the  other  side,  old 
Major  Ashcroft.  We  differ  radically  on  politics, 
the  Major  bein'  a  besotted  and  hopeless  black 
Republikin;  and  try  ez  I  will  I  ain't  never  been 
able  to  cure  him  of  a  delusion  of  his'n  that  the 
Ninth  Michigan  could  a-helt  its  own  ag'inst 
King's  Hell  Hounds  ef  ever  they'd  met  up  on 
the  field  of  battle;  but  in  other  respects  he's 
a  fairly  intelligent  man;  and  he  certainly  does 
coincide  with  me  that  betwixt  us  we've  got 
the  smartest  four-year-old  youngster  fur  a 
grandchild  that  ever  was  born.  There's  hope 
fur  a  nation  that  kin  produce  sech  children  ez 
that  one,  ef  I  do  say  it  myself." 

He  stood  up  and  shook  himself. 

[50] 


EX-FIG  H  TIN'      BILLY 

"In  fact,  son,"  concluded  Sergeant  Bagby, 
"you  mout  safely  say  that,  takin'  one  thing 
with  another,  this  country  is  turnin'  out  to  be 
quite  a  success." 


[511 


CHAPTER  H 
AND   THERE   WAS   LIGHT 


SO  many  things  that  at  first  seem  amazing 
ly  complex  turn  out  amazingly  simple. 
The  purely  elemental  has  a  trick  of  am 
bushing  itself  behind  a  screen  of  mystery; 
but   when   by  deduction   and   elimination — in 
short,  by  the  simple  processes  of  subtraction  and 
division — we  have  stripped  away  the  mask,  the 
fact  stands  so  plainly  revealed  we  marvel  that 
we  did  not  behold  it  from  the  beginning.    Ele 
mental,  you  will  remember,  was  a  favourite  word 
with  Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes,  and  one  much  em 
ployed  by  him  in  the  elucidation  of  problems  in 
criminology  for  the  better  enlightenment  of  his 
sincere  but  somewhat  obvious-minded  friend, 
the  worthy  Doctor  Watson. 

On  the  other  hand,  traits  and  tricks  that  ap 
pear  to  betray  the  characters,  the  inclinations 
and,  most  of  all,  the  vocations  of  their  owners 
may  prove  misleading  clues,  and  very  often  do. 
You  see  a  black  man  with  a  rolling  gait,  who 
spraddles  his  legs  when  he  stands  and  sways  his 
body  on  his  hips  when  he  walks;  and,  following 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

the  formula  of  the  deductionist  cult  of  amateur 
detectives,  you  say  to  yourself  that  here,  beyond 
peradventure,  is  a  deep-water  sailor,  used  to 
decks  that  heave  and  scuppers  that  flood.  In 
quiry  but  serves  to  prove  to  you  how  wrong 
you  are.  The  person  in  question  is  a  veteran 
dining-car  waiter. 

Then  along  comes  another — one  with  a  hearty 
red  face,  who  rears  well  back  and  steps  out  with 
martial  precision.  Evidently  a  retired  officer  of 
the  regular  army,  you  say  to  yourself.  Not  at 
all;  merely  the  former  bass  drummer  of  a  mili 
tary  brass  band.  The  bass  drummer,  as  will 
readily  be  recalled,  leans  away  from  his  instru 
ment  instead  of  toward  it. 

For  a  typical  example  of  this  sort  of  thing,  let 
us  take  the  man  I  have  in  mind  for  the  central 
figure  of  this  tale.  He  was  a  square-built  man, 
round-faced,  with  a  rather  small,  deep-set  grey 
eye,  and  a  pair  of  big  hands,  clumsy-looking 
but  deft.  He  wore  his  hair  short  and  his  upper 
lip  long.  Appraising  him  upon  the  occasion  of 
a  chance  meeting  in  the  street,  you  would  say 
offhand  that  this,  very  probably,  was  a  man  who 
had  been  reasonably  successful  in  some  trade 
calling  for  initiative  and  expertness  rather  than 
for  technic.  He  wouldn't  be  a  theatrical  man 
ager — his  attire  was  too  formal;  or  a  stock 
broker — his  attire  was  not  formal  enough. 

I  imagine  you  in  the  act  of  telling  yourself 
that  he  might  be  a  clever  life-insurance  solicitor, 
or  a  purchasing  agent  for  a  trunk  line,  or  a  canny 

[53] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

judge  of  real-estate  values — a  man  whose  taste 
in  dress  would  run  rather  to  golf  stockings  than 
to  spats,  rather  to  soft  hats  than  to  hard  ones, 
and  whose  pet  hobby  would  likely  be  trout  flies 
and  not  first  editions.  In  a  part  of  your  hy 
pothesis  you  would  have  been  absolutely  cor 
rect.  This  man  could  do  things  with  a  cast 
ing  rod  and  with  a  mid-iron  too. 

Seeing  him  now,  as  we  do  see  him,  wearing  a 
loose  tweed  suit  and  sitting  bareheaded  behind 
a  desk  in  the  innermost  room  of  a  smart  suite 
of  offices  on  a  fashionable  side  street,  surrounded 
by  shelves  full  of  medical  books  and  by  wall 
cases  containing  medical  appliances,  you,  know 
ing  nothing  of  him  except  what  your  eye  told 
you,  would  probably  hazard  a  guess  that  this 
individual  was  a  friend  of  the  doctor,  who, 
having  dropped  in  for  social  purposes  and  having 
found  the  doctor  out,  had  removed  his  hat  and 
taken  a  seat  in  the  doctor's  chair  to  await  the 
doctor's  return. 

Therein  you  would  have  been  altogether  in 
error.  This  man  was  not  the  doctor's  friend, 
but  the  doctor  himself — a  practitioner  of  high 
repute  in  his  own  particular  line.  He  was  known 
as  a  specialist  in  neurotic  disorders;  privately 
he  called  himself  a  specialist  in  human  nature. 
He  "was  of  an  orthodox  school  of  medicine,  but 
he  had  cast  overboard  most  of  the  ethics  of  the 
school  and  he  gave  as  little  as  possible  of  the 
medicine.  Drugs  he  used  sparingly,  preferring 
to  prescribe  other  things  for  most  of  his  patients 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

— such  things,  for  instance,  as  fresh  air,  fresh 
vegetables  and  fresh  thoughts.  His  cures  were 
numerous  and  his  fees  were  large. 

On  the  other  side  of  a  cross  wall  a  woman  sat 
waiting  to  see  him.  She  was  alone,  being  the 
first  of  his  callers  to  arrive  this  day.  A  heavy, 
deep-cushioned  town  car,  with  a  crest  on  its 
doors  and  a  man  in  fine  livery  to  drive  it,  had 
brought  her  to  the  doctor's  address  five  minutes 
earlier;  car  and  driver  were  at  the  curb  outside. 
The  woman  was  exquisitely  groomed  and  ex 
quisitely  overdressed.  She  radiated  luxury, 
wealth  and  the  possession  of  an  assured  and 
enviable  position.  She  radiated  something  else, 
too — unhappiness. 

Here  assuredly  the  lay  mind  might  make  no 
mistake  in  its  summarising.  There  are  too  many 
like  her  for  any  one  of  us  to  err  in  our  diagnosis 
when  a  typical  example  is  presented.  The  city 
is  especially  prolific  of  such  women.  It  breeds 
them.  It  coddles  them  and  it  pampers  them, 
but  in  payment  therefore  it  besets  them  with 
many  devils.  It  gives  them  everything  in  rea 
son  and  out  of  reason,  and  then  it  makes  them 
long  for  something  else — anything  else,  so  long 
as  it  be  unattainable.  Possessed  of  the  nagging 
demons  of  unrest  and  discontent  and  satiation, 
they  feed  on  their  nerves  until  their  nerves  in 
retaliation  begin  to  feed  on  them.  The  result 
generally  is  smash.  Sanitariums  get  them,  and 
divorce  courts  and  asylums — and  frequently 

cemeteries. 

[53] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

The  woman  who  waited  in  the  reception  room 
did  not  have  to  v/ait  very  long,  yet  she  was  hard 
put  to  it  to  control  herself  while  she  sat  there. 
She  bit  her  under  lip  until  the  red  marks  of  her 
teeth  showed  in  the  flesh,  and  she  gripped  the 
arms  of  her  chair  so  tightly  and  with  such  use 
less  expenditure  of  nervous  force  that  through 
her  gloves  the  knuckles  of  her  hands  exposed 
themselves  in  sharp  high  ridges. 

Presently  a  manservant  entered  and,  bowing, 
indicated  mutely  that  his  master  would  see  her 
now.  She  fairly  ran  past  him  through  the  com 
municating  door  which  he  held  open  for  her  pas 
sage.  As  she  entered  the  inner  room  it  was  as 
though  her  coming  into  it  set  all  its  orderliness 
awry.  Only  the  ruddy-faced  specialist,  in 
trenched  behind  the  big  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  seemed  unchanged.  She  halted  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table  and  bent  across  it 
toward  him,  her  finger  tips  drumming  a  little 
tattoo  upon  its  smooth  surface.  He  did  not 
speak  even  the  briefest  of  greetings;  perhaps  he 
was  minded  not  to  speak.  He  waited  for  her  to 
begin. 

"Doctor,"  she  burst  out,  "y°u  must  do 
something  for  me;  you  must  give  me  medicine 
— drugs — narcotics — anything  that  will  soothe 
me.  I  did  not  sleep  at  all  last  night  and  hardly 
any  the  night  before  that.  All  night  I  sat  up 
in  bed  or  walked  the  floor  trying  to  keep  from 
screaming  out — trying  to  keep  from  going  mad. 
I  have  been  dressed  for  hours — I  made  my 
"" [56]  — 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

maid  stay  up  with  me — waiting  for  your  office 
to  open  so  that  I  might  come  to  you.  Here  I 
am — see  me!  See  the  state  I  am  in!  Doctor, 
you  must  do  something  for  me — and  do  it  now, 
quickly,  before  I  do  something  desperate!" 

She  panted  out  the  last  words.  She  put  her 
clenched  hands  to  her  bosom.  Her  haggard 
eyes  glared  into  his;  their  glare  made  the  care 
fully  applied  cosmetics  upon  her  face  seem  a 
ghastly  mask. 

"I  have  already  prescribed  for  you,  madam," 
the  doctor  said.  "I  told  you  that  what  you 
mainly  needed  was  rest — complete  and  abso 
lute  rest." 

"Rest?  Rest!  How  can  I  rest?  What 
chance  is  there  for  me  to  rest?  I  can't  rest!  If 
I  try  to  rest  I  begin  to  think — and  then  it  is 
worse  than  ever.  I  must  keep  on  the  go. 
Something  drives  me  on — something  inside  me, 
here — to  go  and  go,  and  to  keep  on  going  until 
I  drop.  Oh,  doctor,  you  don't  know  what  I 
suffer — what  I  have  to  endure.  No  one  knows 
what  I  have  to  endure.  No  one  understands. 
My  husband  doesn't  understand  me — my  chil 
dren  do  not,  nor  my  friends. 

"Friends?  I  have  no  friends.  I  can't  get  on 
with  any  one — I  quarrel  with  every  one.  I 
know  I  am  sick,  that  I  am  irritable  and  out-of- 
sorts  sometimes.  And  I  know  that  I  am  self- 
willed  and  want  my  own  way.  But  I've  always 
been  self-willed;  it's  a  part  of  my  nature.  And 
I've  always  had  my  own  way.  They  should 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

appreciate  that.  But  they  don't.  They  cross 
me.  At  every  turn  somebody  crosses  me.  The 
whole  world  seems  in  a  conspiracy  to  deny  me 
what  I  want. 

"It  can't  be  my  fault  always  that  I  am  forever 
quarrelling  with  people — with  my  own  family; 
with  my  husband's  family;  with  every  one  who 
crosses  my  path.  I  tell  you  they  don't  under 
stand  me,  doctor.  They  don't  make  allow 
ances  for  my  condition.  If  they  would  only 
make  allowances!  And  they  don't  give  me  any 
consideration.  I  can't  stand  it,  doctor!  I  can't 
go  on  like  this  any  longer.  Please — please, 
doctor,  do  something  for  me!" 

Mounting  hysteria  edged  her  voice  with  a 
sharpened,  almost  a  vulgar  shrillness.  The 
austere  and  studied  reserve  of  her  class — a  re 
serve  that  is  part  of  it  poise  and  the  rest  of  it 
pose — dropped  away  from  her  like  a  discarded 
garment,  and  before  her  physician  she  revealed 
herself  nakedly  for  what  she  was — a  creature 
with  the  passions,  the  forwardness  and  the 
selfishness  of  a  spoiled  and  sickly  child;  and, 
on  top  of  these,  superimposed  and  piled  up, 
adult  impulses,  adult  appetites,  adult  petulance, 
adult  capacity  for  misery. 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  "to  go  away.  I 
thought,  until  my  man  brought  me  your  name 
a  bit  ago,  that  you  had  gone.  Weeks  ago  I  told 
you  that  travel  might  help  you — not  the  sort 
of  travel  to  which  you  have  been  used,  but  a 
different  sort — travel  in  the  quiet  places,  out 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

of  the  beaten  path,  and  rest.  I  told  you  the 
same  thing  again  less  than  a  week  ago." 

"But  where?"  she  demanded.  "Where  am 
I  to  go?  Tell  me  that!  I  have  been  every  where 
— I  have  seen  everything.  What  is  there  left 
for  me  to  see  in  the  world?  What  is  there  in  the 
world  that  is  worth  seeing?  You  told  me  be 
fore  there  was  nothing  organically  wrong  with 
me,  nothing  fundamentally  wrong  with  my 
body.  Then  it  must  be  my  mind,  and  travel 
couldn't  cure  a  mind  in  the  state  that  mine  is 
in.  How  can  I  rest  when  I  am  so  distracted, 
when  small  things  upset  me  so,  when " 

In  the  midst  of  this  new  outburst  she  broke 
off.  Her  eyes,  wandering  from  his  as  she 
pumped  herself  up  toward  a  frenzy,  were  fo 
cused  now  upon  some  object  behind  him.  She 
pointed  toward  it. 

"I  never  saw  that  before,"  she  said.  "It 
wasn't  there  when  I  was  here  last." 

He  swung  about  in  his  chair,  its  spiral  creak 
ing  under  his  weight. 

"No,"  he  said;  "you  never  saw  that  before. 
It  came  into  my  possession  only  a  day  or  two 
ago.  It  is  a— 

She  broke  in  on  him. 

"What  a  wonderful  face!"  she  said.  "What 
beauty  there  is  in  it — what  peace!  I  think 
that  is  what  made  me  notice  it — the  peace  that 
is  in  it.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  like  that!  Doc 
tor,  the  being  to  whom  that  face  belonged  must 
have  had  everything  worth  having.  And  to 
[59] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

think  there  can  be  such  beings  in  this  world — 
beings  so  blessed,  so  happy — while  I — I " 

Tears  of  self-pity  came  into  her  eyes.  She 
was  slipping  back  again  into  her  former  mood. 
With  his  gaze  he  caught  and  held  hers,  exerting 
all  his  will  to  hold  it.  A  brother  psychologist 
seeing  him  in  that  moment  would  have  said 
that  to  this  man  a  possible  way  out  of  a  di 
lemma  had  come — would  have  said  that  an  in 
spiration  suddenly  had  visited  him. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  it  at  closer 
range,"  he  said,  still  steadfastly  regarding  her. 
"There  is  a  story  regarding  it — a  story  that 
might  interest  you,  madam." 

He  rose  from  his  place,  crossed  the  room  and, 
reaching  up,  took  down  a  plaster  cast  of  a  face 
that  rested  upright  against  the  broad  low 
moulding  that  ran  along  his  walls  on  two 
sides. 

As  he  brought  it  to  her  he  saw  that  she  had 
taken  a  chair.  Her  figure  was  relaxed  from 
its  recent  rigidness.  Her  elbows  were  upon  the 
tabletop.  He  put  the  cast  into  her  gloved 
hands  and  reseated  himself.  She  held  it  before 
her  at  arm's  length,  and  one  gloved  hand  went 
over  its  surface  almost  caressingly. 

"It  is  wonderful!"  she  said.  "I  never  saw 
such  an  expression  on  any  human  face — why, 
it  is  soothing  to  me  just  to  look  at  it.  Doctor, 
where  did  you  get  it?  Who  was  the  original  of 
it — or  don't  you  know?  What  living  creature 
sat  for  the  artist  who  made  it?" 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

"No  living  creature  sat  for  it,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"  Oh ! "  she  said  disappointedly.  "  Well,  then, 
what  artist  had  the  imagination  to  conjure  up 
such  a  conception?" 

"No  artist  conjured  it  up."  he  told  her. 

"Then  how 

"That,  madam,"  he  said,  "is  a  death  mask." 

"A  death  mask!"  Her  tone  was  incredu 
lous.  "A  death  mask,  doctor?" 

"Yes,  madam — a  death  mask.  See,  the 
eyes  are  closed — are  half  closed,  anyway." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  death  can 
leave  such  an  expression  on  any  face?  How 
could " 

She  broke  off,  staring  incredulously  at  the 
thing. 

"That  is  what  makes  the  story  I  mean  to  tell 
you,"  he  said — "if  you  care  to  hear  it?" 

"Of  course  I  want  to  hear  it."  Her  manner 
was  insistent,  impatient,  demanding  almost. 
"Please  go  on." 

He  kept  her  in  suspense  a  moment  or  two; 
and  so  they  both  sat,  he  squinting  up  at  the  ceil 
ing  as  though  marshalling  a  narrative  in  its 
proper  sequence  in  his  mind,  she  holding  fast 
to  the  disked  shape  of  white  plaster.  At  length 
he  began,  speaking  slowly. 

"Here  is  the  story,"  he  said:  "A  few  weeks 
ago  an  acquaintance  of  mine — a  fellow  physi 
cian — told  me  of  a  case  he  thought  might  in- 
terest  me.  Primarily  it  was  a  surgical  case,  and 
[61] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

I,  as  perhaps  you  know,  do  not  practise  sur 
gery;  but  there  was  another  aspect  of  it  that 
did  have  a  direct  and  personal  appeal  for  me. 

"It  seems  that  some  weeks  before  there  had 
been  put  into  his  hands  for  treatment  a  man — 
a  young  man — who  was  stone-deaf  and  stone- 
blind,  and  whose  senses  of  taste  and  of  smell 
were  greatly  affected — perhaps  I  should  say 
impaired.  He  could  speak,  more  or  less  im 
perfectly,  and  his  sense  of  touch  was  good;  in 
fact,  better  than  with  ordinary  mortals.  These 
two  faculties  alone  remained  to  him.  He  had 
been  afflicted  so  from  childhood;  the  attack, 
or  the  disease,  which  left  him  in  this  state  had 
come  upon  him  very  early,  before  his  mind  had 
registered  very  many  sensible  impressions. 

"Speech  and  feeling — these  really  were  what 
remained  intact.  Yet  his  intelligence,  consid 
ering  these  handicaps,  was  above  the  average, 
and  his  body  was  healthy,  and  his  tempera 
ment,  in  the  main,  sanguine.  Practically  all 
his  life  he  had  been  in  an  asylum — a  charity 
institution.  Until  chance  brought  him  to  the 
attention  of  this  acquaintance  of  mine  it  had 
seemed  highly  probable  that  he  would  spend 
the  rest  of  his  life  in  this  institution. 

"The  physicians  there  regarded  his  case  as 
hopeless.  They  were  conscientious  men — these 
physicians — and  they  were  not  lacking  in  sym 
pathy,  I  think;  but  their  hands  and  their 
thoughts  were  concerned  with  their  duties, 
and  perhaps — mind  you,  I  say  perhaps — per- 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

haps  an  individual  case  more  or  less  did  not 
mean  to  them  what  it  means  to  the  physician 
in  private  practice.  You  understand?  So  this 
young  man,  who  was  well  formed  physically, 
who  was  normal  in  his  mental  aspects,  seemed 
to  be  doomed  to  serve  a  life  sentence  inside 
walls  of  utter  darkness  and  utter  silence. 

"Well,  this  man  came  under  the  attention 
of  the  surgeon  I  have  mentioned.  Possibly  be 
cause  it  seemed  so  hopeless,  the  case  interested 
the  surgeon.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
affliction — afflictions  rather — -were  not  congeni 
tal,  not  incurable.  He  made  up  his  mind  that 
a  tumorous  growth  on  the  brain  was  responsi 
ble  for  the  present  state  of  the  victim.  And  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  an  operation — a  delicate 
and  a  risky  and  a  difficult  operation — might 
bring  about  a  cure.  If  the  operation  failed  the 
subject  would  pass  from  the  silence  and  the 
blackness  he  now  endured  into  a  silence  and  a 
blackness  which  many  of  us,  similarly  placed, 
would  find  preferable.  He  would  die — quickly 
and  painlessly.  If  the  operation  succeeded  he 
probably  would  have  back  all  his  faculties — he 
would  begin  really  to  live.  The  surgeon  was 
willing  to  take  the  chance,  to  assume  the  re 
sponsibility. 

"The  other  man  was  willing  to  take  his 
chance  too.  Both  of  them  took  it.  The  opera 
tion  was  performed — and  it  was  a  success. 
The  man  lived  through  it,  and  when  he  was 
lifted  off  the  table  my  friend  had  every  reason 
[63] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

to  believe — in  fact,  to  know  as  surely  as  a  man 
whose  business  is  tampering  with  the  human 
organism  can  know  anything — that  before  very 
long  this  man,  who  had  walked  all  his  days  in 
darkness,  lacking  taste  and  smell,  and  hearing 
no  sound,  would  have  back  all  that  his  afflic 
tions  had  denied  him. 

"To  my  friend,  the  surgeon,  it  seemed  likely 
that  I,  as  a  person  concerned  to  a  degree  in 
psychologic  manifestations  and  psychologic  phe 
nomena,  would  be  glad  of  the  opportunity  to 
be  present  at  the  hour  when  this  man,  through 
his  eyes,  his  ears,  his  tongue  and  his  palate,  first 
registered  intelligible  and  actual  impressions. 
And  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity.  Almost  it 
would  be  like  witnessing  the  rebirth  of  a  human 
being;  certainly  it  would  be  witnessing  the 
mental  awakening,  through  physical  mediums, 
of  a  human  soul. 

"At  first  hand  I  would  see  what  this  world, 
to  which  you  and  I  are  accustomed  and  of 
which  some  of  us  have  grown  weary,  meant  to 
one  who  had  been  so  completely,  so  utterly 
shut  out  from  that  world  through  all  the  more 
impressionable  years  of  his  life.  Naturally  I 
was  enormously  interested  to  hear  what  he 
might  say,  to  see  what  he  might  do  in  the  hour 
of  his  reawakening  and  re-creation. 

"So  I  went  with  the  surgeon  on  the  day  ap 
pointed  by  him  for  testing  the  success  of  his 
operation.  Only  five  of  us  were  present — the 
man  himself,  the  surgeon  who  had  cured  him, 

[64] 


AND     THERE     WAS     LIGHT 

two  others  and  myself.  Until  that  hour  and 
for  every  hour  since  he  had  come  out  from 
under  the  ether,  the  patient's  eyes  had  been 
bandaged  to  shut  out  light,  and  his  ears  had 
been  muffled  to  shut  out  sounds,  and  he  had 
been  fed  on  liquid  mixtures  administered  arti 
ficially." 

"Why?"  asked  the  woman,  interrupting  for 
the  first  time. 

For  a  moment  the  doctor  hesitated.  Then  he 
went  on  smoothly  to  explain: 

"You  see,  they  feared  the  sudden  shock  to 
senses  and  to  organs  made  sensitive  by  long  dis 
use  until  he  had  completely  rallied  from  the 
operation.  So  they  had  hooded  his  eyes  and  his 
ears. " 

"But  food — why  couldn't  he  have  eaten 
solid  food  before  this?"  she  insisted.  "That  is 
what  I  mean. " 

"Oh,  that?"  he  said,  and  again  he  halted  for 
an  instant.  "That  was  done  largely  on  my 
account.  I  think  the  surgeon  wanted  the  test 
to  be  complete  at  one  time  and  not  developed  in 
parts.  You  understand,  don't  you?" 

She  nodded.  And  he  continued,  watching 
her  face  intently  as  he  proceeded : 

"So,  first  of  all,  we  led  him  into  a  partly 
darkened  room  and  sat  him  down  at  a  table; 
and  we  gave  him  food — very  simple  food — a 
glass  of  cold  water;  a  piece  of  bread,  buttered; 
a  baked  Irish  potato,  with  butter  and  salt  upon 
it — that  was  all.  We  stood  about  him  watching 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

him  as  lie  tasted  of  the  things  we  put  before 
him — for  it  was  really  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
properly  tasted  anything. 

"Madam,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old, 
I  shall  never  forget  the  look  that  came  into  his 
face  then.  Even  though  he  lacked  the  words  to 
express  himself,  as  you  and  I  with  our  greater 
vocabularies  might  conceivably  have  expressed 
ourselves  had  such  an  experience  come  to  us,  I 
knew  that  to  him  the  bread  was  ambrosia  and 
the  water  was  nectar. 

"He  didn't  wolf  the  food  down  as  I  had 
rather  expected  he  might.  He  ate  it  slowly,  ex 
tracting  the  flavour  from  every  crumb  of  it.  And 
the  water  he  took  in  sips,  allowing  it  to  trickle 
down  his  throat,  drop  by  drop  almost.  And  then 
he  spoke  to  us,  touching  the  bread  and  the  po 
tato  and  the  water  glass.  Mind  you,  I  am  re 
producing  the  sense  of  what  he  said  rather  than 
his  exact  words.  He  said: 

"  'What  is  this— and  this— and  this?  What 
are  these  delicious  things  you  have  given  me  to 
eat?  And  what  is  this  exquisite  drink  I  have 
swallowed?' 

"We  told  him  and  he  seemed  not  to  believe 
it  at  first.  He  said : 

'Why,  I  have  handled  such  things  as  these 
often.  I  have  taken  them  up  in  my  hands  a 
thousand  times  and  I  have  swallowed  them.  I 
should  have  known  what  they  were  by  the  touch 
of  my  fingers — but  the  taste  of  them  deceived 
me.  Can  it  be  possible  that  these  things  are 

..___ ~ 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

common  things — that  even  poor  people  can 
feast  upon  such  meals  as  this  which  I  am  eat 
ing?  Can  it  even  be  possible  that  there  is  food 
within  the  reach  of  ordinary  mortals  which  has 
a  finer  zest  than  this?' 

"And  when  his  friend,  the  surgeon,  told  him 
'Yes' — told  him  'Yes'  many  times  and  in  many 
ways — still  he  seemed  loath  to  believe  it.  When 
he  had  finished,  to  the  last  scrap  of  the  potato 
skin  and  the  last  morsel  of  the  bread  crust  and 
the  last  drop  in  the  glass,  he  bowed  his  head  and 
outspread  his  hands  before  him  as  though  re 
turning  thanks  for  a  glorious  benefaction. 

"Perhaps  I  should  have  told  you  that  this 
took  place  late  in  the  afternoon.  We  waited  a 
little  while  after  that,  and  then  just  before  sun 
set  we  took  him  outdoors  into  a  little  shabby 
garden  on  the  asylum  grounds ;  and  we  freed  his 
eyes  and  we  unmuffled  his  ears.  And  then  we 
drew  back  from  him  a  distance  and  watched 
him  to  see  what  he  would  do. 

"For  a  little  while  he  did  nothing  except 
stand  in  his  tracks,  transfixed  and  transfigured. 
He  saw  the  sky  and  the  sunlight  and  the  earth 
and  the  grass  and  the  shadows  upon  the  earth 
and  the  trees  and  the  flowers  that  were  about 
him — saw  them  literally  in  a  celestial  vision; 
and  he  smelled  the  good  wholesome  smells  of 
the  earth,  and  the  scents  of  the  struggling, 
straggling  flowers  in  the  ill-kept  flower  beds,  and 
the  scents  of  the  green  things  growing  there  too. 

"And  just  then,  as  though  it  had  known  and 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

had  been  inspired  to  choose  this  instant  for 
bringing  to  him  yet  another  sensation,  a  thrush 
— a  common  brown  thrush — began  singing  in  an 
elm  tree  almost  directly  above  him.  Of  course 
it  was  merely  a  coincidence  that  a  thrush  should 
begin  singing  then  and  there.  Thrushes  are 
plentiful  enough  about  the  country  in  this  cli 
mate  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Central  Park  is 
full  of  them,  sometimes.  Most  of  us  scarcely  no 
tice  them,  or  their  singing  either.  But,  you  see, 
with  this  man  it  was  different.  He  literally  was 
undergoing  re-creation,  re-incarnation,  resur 
rection.  Call  it  what  you  please.  It  was  one 
of  those  three  things.  In  a  way  of  speaking  it 
was  all  three  of  them. 

"At  the  first  note  01  music  from  the  bird  he 
gave  a  quick  start,  and  then  he  threw  back  his 
head  and  uplifted  his  face;  and  quite  near  at 
hand  he  saw  the  little  rusty-coloured  chap,  sing 
ing  away  there,  with  its  speckled  throat  feathers 
rising  and  falling,  and  he  heard  the  sounds  that 
poured  from  the  thrush's  open  beak.  And  as  he 
looked  and  listened  he  put  his  hands  to  his 
breast  as  though  something  were  hurting  him 
there.  He  didn't  move  until  the  bird  had 
fluttered  away.  Nor  did  we  move  either. 

"Then  he  turned  and  came  stumbling  and 
reeling  toward  us,  literally  drunk  with  joy.  His 
intoxication  of  ecstasy  thickened  his  tongue  and 
choked  him  until  he,  at  first,  could  not  speak  to 
us.  After  a  bit,  though,  the  words  came  out- 
pouring  from  his  lips. 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

"  'Did  you  hear  that?'  he  cried  out.  'Did 
you  hear  it?  Do  you  smell  the  earth  and  the 
flowers?  And  the  sky — I  have  seen  it!  I  can 
see  it  now.  Oh,  hasn't  God  been  good  to  us  to 
give  us  all  this?  Oh, hasn't  He  been  good  to  me? ' 

"In  an  outburst  of  gratitude  he  seized  the 
hand  of  my  friend  and  kissed  it  again  and  again. 
I  had  meant  to  take  notes  of  his  behaviour  as  we 
went  along,  but  I  took  none.  I  knew  that  after 
ward  I  could  reproduce  from  memory  all  that 
transpired. 

"Presently  he  was  calmer,  and  the  surgeon 
said  to  him : 

' '  My  son,  there  is  something  yet  to  be  seen — 
something  that  you,  having  so  many  other  things 
to  see,  have  overlooked.  Look  yonder!'  And 
he  pointed  to  the  West,  where  the  sun  was  just 
going  down. 

"And,  at  that,  the  other  man  faced  about 
and  looked  full  into  his  first  sunset.  Instantly 
his  whole  mood  changed.  It  became  rapt, 
reverential — you  might  say  worshipful.  His 
lips  moved,  but  no  words  came  from  them  at 
first,  and  he  made  as  though  to  shut  out  the 
sight  with  his  hands,  as  though  the  beauty  of 
the  vision  was  too  great  for  him  to  endure.  I 
went  to  him  and  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
He  was  quivering  from  head  to  foot  in  an  ague 
of  sheer  happiness.  He  seemed  hardly  to  know 
I  was  there.  He  did  not  look  toward  me.  He 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  West  as  if  he  were 

greedy  to  miss  nothing  of  the  spectacle. 

[69] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

"Until  now  the  sunset  had  seemed  to  me  less 
beautiful  by  far  than  many  another  summer  sun 
set  I  had  seen,  for  the  sky  was  rather  overcast 
and  the  colours  not  particularly  vivid;  but, 
standing  there  beside  him,  in  physical  contact 
with  him,  I  caught  from  him  something  of  what 
he  felt,  and  I  saw  that  glow  in  the  west  as  some 
thing  of  indescribable  grandeur  and  unutterable 
splendour,  a  miracle  too  glorious  for  words  to 
describe  or  painters  to  reproduce  upon  squares 
of  canvas. 

"Presently  ne  spoke  to  me,  still  without  turn 
ing  his  head  in  my  direction. 

''  'How  often  does  this — this — come  to  pass?' 
he  asked,  panting  the  words  out. 

"  'Many  times  a  year/  I  told  him.  'At  this 
season  nearly  every  evening.' 

'  'And  is  it  ever  so  beautiful  as  this?'  he 
said. 

"  'Often  more  beautiful,'  I  said.  'Often  the 
colours  are  richer  and  deeper. ' 

'  Why  are  there  not  more  of  us  here  to  look 
upon  it?'  he  asked.  'Surely  at  this  hour  all 
mankind  must  cease  from  its  tasks — from  what 
ever  it  is  doing — to  see  this  miracle — this  free 
gift  of  the  Creator!' 

"I  tried  to  tell  him  that  mankind  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  daily  repetition  of  the  sun 
set,  but  he  seemed  unable  to  comprehend.  As 
the  last  flattened  ray  of  sunshine  faded  up 
on  the  grass,  and  the  afterglow  began  to 
spread  across  the  heavens,  I  thought  he  was 
[70] 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

about  to  faint;  and  I  put  both  my  arms  round 
him  to  steady  him.  But  he  did  not  faint,  though 
he  trembled  all  over  and  took  his  breath  into 
his  lungs  in  great  sobbing  gulps.  I  showed  him 
the  evening  star  where  it  shone  in  the  sky,  and 
he  watched  it  brighten,  saying  nothing  at  all. 

"Suddenly  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"  'At  last  I  have  lived,  and  I  have  found  that 
life  is  sweet.  Life  is  sweeter  than  I  ever  dared 
to  hope  it  might  be. ' 

"Then  he  said: 

c  'I  have  a  home.  Will  you  show  me  where 
it  is?  While  I  was  blind  I  could  feel  my  way  to 
it;  but,  now  that  I  can  see,  I  feel  lost — all  things 
are  so  changed  to  me.  Please  lead  me  there — 
I  want  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  what  a  home  is 
like/ 

"So  I  took  his  hand  in  mine  and  we  went 
toward  it,  and  the  three  others  who  were  there 
followed  after  us. 

"  Madam,  his  home — the  only  home  he  had,  for 
so  far  as  we  knew,  he  had  no  living  kinspeople — 
was  a  room  in  that  big  barn  of  an  asylum.  I  led 
him  to  the  door  of  it.  It  was  a  barren  enough 
room — you  know  how  these  institutions  are  apt 
to  be  furnished,  and  this  room  was  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  Bare  walls,  a  bare  floor,  bare  un 
curtained  windows,  a  bed,  a  chair  or  two,  a 
bare  table — a  sort  of  hygienic  and  sanitary 
brutality  governed  all  its  appointments. 

"I  imagine  the  lowest  servant  in  your  em- 
ploy  has  a  more  attractively  furnished  room 
[71] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

than  this  was.  Now,  though,  it  was  flooded  with 
the  afterglow,  which  poured  in  at  the  windows; 
that  soft  light  alone  redeemed  its  hideousness 
of  outline  and  its  poverty  of  furnishings. 

"He  halted  at  the  threshold.  We  know  what 
home  means  to  most  of  us.  How  much  must 
it  have  meant,  then,  to  him!  He  could  see  the 
walls  closing  round  to  encompass  him  in  their 
friendly  companionship;  he  could  see  the  roof 
coming  down  to  protect  him. 

"  'Home! '  he  said  to  himself  in  a  half  whisper, 
under  his  breath.  '  What  a  beautiful  word  home 
is !  And  what  a  beautiful  place  my  home  is !' 

"Nobody  gave  the  signal,  none  of  us  made  the 
suggestion  by  word  or  gesture;  but  with  one 
accord  we  four,  governed  by  the  same  impulse, 
left  him  and  went  away.  We  felt  in  an  inarticu 
late  way  that  he  was  entitled  to  be  alone;  that 
no  curious  eye  had  any  right  to  study  his  emo 
tions  in  this  supreme  moment. 

"In  an  hour  we  went  back.  He  was  lying 
where  he  had  fallen — across  the  threshold  of 
his  room.  On  his  face  was  a  beatific  peace,  a 
content  unutterable — and  he  was  dead.  Joy  I 
think  had  burst  his  heart.  That  bit  of  plaster 
you  hold  in  your  hand  is  his  death  mask. " 

The  doctor  finished  his  tale.  He  bent  forward 
in  his  chair  to  see  the  look  upon  his  caller's  face. 
She  stood  up;  and  she  was  a  creature  trans 
formed  and  radiant! 

"Doctor,"  she  said — and  even  her  voice  was 
altered — "I  am  going  home — home  to  my  hus- 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

band  and  my  children  and  my  friends.  I  believe 
I  have  found  a  cure  for  my — my  trouble. 
Rather,  you  have  found  it  for  me  here  to-day. 
You  have  taught  me  a  lesson.  You  have  made 
me  see  things  I  could  not  see  before — hear  things 
I  could  not  hear  before.  For  I  have  been  blind 
and  deaf,  as  blind  and  as  deaf  as  this  man  was— 
yes,  blinder  than  he  ever  was.  But  now" — she 
cried  out  the  words  in  a  burst  of  revelation — 
"but  now — why,  doctor,  I  have  everything  to 
live  for— haven't  I?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  said  gravely;  "you  have 
everything  to  live  for.  If  only  we  knew  it,  if 
only  we  could  realise  it,  all  of  us  in  this  world 
have  everything  to  live  for. " 

She  nodded,  smiling  across  the  table  at  him. 

"Doctor,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  believe  I  shall 
ever  come  back  here  to  see  you — as  a  patient 
of  yours." 

"No,"  he  affirmed;  "I  do  not  believe  you 
will  ever  come  back — as  a  patient  of  mine. " 

"But,  if  I  may,  I  should  like  to  come  some 
times,  just  to  look  at  that  face — that  dead  face 
with  its  living  message  for  me. " 

"Madam,"  he  told  her,  "you  may  have  it  on 
two  conditions — namely,  that  you  keep  it  in 
your  own  room,  and  that  you  do  not  tell  its 
story — the  story  I  have  just  told  you — to  any 
other  person.  I  have  reasons  of  my  own  for 
making  those  conditions." 

"In  my  own  room  is  exactly  where  I  would 
keep  it, "  she  said.  "  I  promise  to  do  as  you  ask. 
[73] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

I  shall  never  part  with  it.  But  how  can  you 
part  with  it?" 

"Oh,  I  think  I  know  where  I  can  get  another 
copy,"  he  said.  "The  original  mould  has  not 
been  destroyed.  I  am  sure  my — my  friend — has 
it.  This  one  will  be  delivered  at  your  home  be 
fore  night.  My  servant  shall  take  it  to  you. " 

"No, "  she  said.  "If  you  do  not  mind,  I  shall 
take  it  with  me  now — in  my  own  hands." 

She  clasped  the  gift  to  her  breast,  holding  it 
there  as  though  it  were  a  priceless  thing — too 
priceless  to  be  intrusted  to  the  keeping  of  any 
other  than  its  possessor. 

For  perhaps  five  minutes  after  the  departure 
of  his  recent  patient  the  great  specialist  sat  at 
his  desk  smiling  gently  to  himself.  Then  he 
touched  with  his  forefinger  a  button  under  the 
desk.  His  manservant  entered. 

"You  have  heard  of  troubles  being  started 
by  a  lie,  haven't  you?"  asked  the  doctor 
abruptly. 

"Yes,  sir — I  think  so,  sir." 

The  man  was  not  an  Englishman,  but  he  had 
been  trained  in  the  school  of  English  servants. 
His  voice  betrayed  no  surprise. 

"Well,  did  you  ever  hear  of  troubles  being 
ended  by  a  lie?" 

"Really,  sir,  I  can't  say,  sir — offhand." 

"Well,  it  can  be  done,"  said  the  doctor;  "in 
fact,  it  has  been  done. " 

The  man  stood  a  moment. 

'  [7-1] 


AND     THERE      WAS      LIGHT 

"Was  that  all,  sir?" 

"No;  not  quite,"  said  the  master.  "Do  you 
remember  an  Italian  pedlar  who  was  here  the 
other  day?" 

"An  Italian  pedlar,  sir?" 

"Yes;  don't  you  remember?  A  street  vender 
who  passed  the  door.  I  called  him  in  and  bought 
a  plaster  cast  from  him — for  seventy-five  cents, 
as  I  recall." 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  I  do  remember  now. " 

The  man's  eyes  flitted  to  an  empty  space  on 
the  wall  moulding  above  the  bookcase  behind 
his  employer's  chair,  and  back  again  to  his  em 
ployer's  face. 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  keep  a  lookout 
for  him,  in  case  he  passes  again.  I  want  to  buy 
another  of  those  casts  from  him.  I  think  it  may 
be  worth  the  money — the  last  one  was,  any 
how." 


[75] 


CHAPTER  III 
MR.    FELSBURG    GETS    EVEN 


OF  all  the  human  legs  ever  seen  in  our 
town  I  am  constrained  to  admit  that 
Mr.  Herman  Felsburg's  pair  were  the 
most  humorous  legs.  When  it  came 
to  legs — funny  legs — the  palm  was  his  without 
a  struggle.  Casting  up  in  my  mind  a  wide  as 
sortment  and  a  great  range  of  legs,  I  recall  no 
set  in  the  whole  of  Red  Gravel  County  that, 
for  pure  comedy  of  contour  or  rare  eccentricity 
of  gait,  could  compare  with  the  two  he  owned. 
In  his  case  his  legs  achieved  the  impossible  by 
being  at  one  and  the  same  time  bent  outward 
and  warped  inward,  so  that  he  was  knock- 
kneed  at  a  stated  point  and  elsewhere  bow- 
legged.  And  yet,  as  legs  go,  they  were  short 
ones.  For  a  finishing  touch  he  was,  to  a  notice 
able  extent,  pigeon-toed. 

I  remember  mighty  well  the  first  time  Mr. 
Felsburg's  legs  first  acquired  for  me  an  interest 
unrelated  to  their  picturesqueness  of  aspect. 
As  I  think  backward  along  the  grooves  of  my 
memory  to  that  occasion,  it  defies  all  the  rules 
[76] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

of  perspective  by  looming  on  a  larger  scale  and 
in  brighter  and  more  vivid  colours  than  many 
a  more  important  thing  which  occurred  in  a 
much  more  recent  period.  I  reckon,  though, 
that  is  because  our  Creator  has  been  good 
enough  to  us  sometimes  to  let  us  view  our  child 
hood  with  the  big,  round,  magnifving  eyes  of  a 
child. 

I  feel  it  to  be  so  in  my  case.  By  virtue  of  a 
certain  magic  I  see  a  small,  inquisitive  boy  sit 
ting  on  the  top  step  of  the  wide  front  porch  of 
an  old  white  house;  and  as  he  sits  he  hugs  his 
bare  knees  within  the  circle  of  his  arms  and 
listens  with  two  wide-open  ears  to  the  talk  that 
shuttles  back  and  forth  among  three  or  four 
old  men  who  are  taking  their  comfort  in  easy- 
chairs  behind  a  thick  screen  of  dishrag  and 
morning  glory  and  balsam-apple  vines. 

I  am  that  small  boy  who  listens;  and,  as  the 
picture  forms  and  frames  itself  in  my  mind, 
one  of  the  men  is  apt  to  be  my  uncle.  He  was 
not  my  uncle  by  blood  ties  or  marriage,  but 
through  adoption  only,  as  was  the  custom  down 
our  way  in  those  days  and,  to  a  certain  degree, 
is  still  the  custom;  and,  besides,  I  was  his 
namesake. 

I  know  now,  when  by  comparison  I  subject 
the  scene  to  analysis,  that  they  were  not  such 
very  old  men — then.  They  are  old  enough  now 
— such  of  them  as  survive  to  this  day.  None 
of  that  group  who  yet  lives  will  ever  see  seventy- 
five  again.  In  those  times  grown  people  would 
[77] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

have  called  them  middle-aged  men,  or,  at  the 
most,  elderly  men;  but  when  I  re-create  the 
vision  out  of  the  back  of  my  head  I  invest 
them  with  an  incredible  antiquity  and  a  vasty 
wisdom,  because,  as  I  said  just  now,  I  am  look 
ing  at  them  with  the  eyes  of  a  small  boy  again. 
Also,  it  seems  to  me,  the  season  always  is  sum 
mer — late  afternoon  or  early  evening  of  a  hot, 
lazy  summer  day. 

It  was  right  there,  perched  upon  the  top  step 
of  Judge  Priest's  front  porch,  that  I  heard, 
piece  by  piece,  the  unwritten  history  of  our 
town — its  tragedies  and  its  farces,  its  homely 
romances  and  its  homely  epics.  There  I  heard 
the  story  of  Singin'  Sandy  Riggs,  who,  like 
Coligny,  finally  won  by  being  repeatedly 
whipped;  and  his  fist  feud  with  Harve  Allen, 
the  bully;  and  the  story  of  old  Marm  Perry, 
the  Witch.  I  don't  suppose  she  was  a  witch 
really;  but  she  owned  a  black  cat  and  she  had 
a  droopy  lid,  which  hung  down  over  one  red 
eye,  and  she  lived  a  friendless  life. 

And  so  when  the  babies  in  the  settlement 
began  to  sicken  and  die  of  the  spotted  fever 
somebody  advanced  the  very  plausible  sug 
gestion  that  Marm  Perry  had  laid  a  spell  upon 
the  children,  and  nearly  everybody  else  be 
lieved  it.  A  man  whose  child  fell  ill  of  the 
plague  in  the  very  hour  when  Marm  Perry  had 
spoken  to  the  little  thing  took  a  silver  dollar 
and  melted  it  down  and  made  a  silver  bullet  of 
it — because,  of  course,  witches  were  immune  to 
[78] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS      EVEN 

slugs  of  lead — and  on  the  night  after  the  day 
when  they  buried  his  baby  he  slipped  up  to 
Marm  Perry's  cabin  and  fired  through  the  win 
dow  at  her  as  she  sat,  with  her  black  cat  in  her 
lap,  mouthing  her  empty  gums  over  her  supper. 
The  bullet  missed  her — and  he  was  a  good  shot, 
too,  that  man  was.  Practically  all  the  men  who 
lived  in  those  days  on  the  spot  where  our  town 
was  to  stand  were  good  shots.  They  had  to 
be — or  else  go  hungry  frequently. 

When  the  news  of  this  spread  they  knew  for 
certain  that  only  by  fire  could  the  evil  charm 
be  broken  and  the  con  jure- woman  be  destroyed. 
So  one  night  soon  after  that  a  party  of  men 
broke  into  Marm  Perry's  cabin  and  made  pris 
oners  of  her  and  her  cat.  They  muffled  her 
head  in  a  bedquilt  and  they  thrust  the  cat  into 
a  bag,  both  of  them  yowling  and  kicking;  and 
they  carried  them  to  a  place  on  the  bluff  above 
Island  Creek,  a  mile  or  so  from  the  young  settle 
ment,  and  there  they  kindled  a  great  fire  of 
brush;  and  when  the  flames  had  taken  good 
hold  of  the  wood  they  threw  Marm  Perry  and 
her  cat  into  the  blaze  and  stood  back  to  see 
them  burn.  Mind  you,  this  didn't  happen  at 
Salem,  Massachusetts,  in  or  about  the  year 
1692.  It  happened  less  than  a  century  ago  near 
a  small  river  landing  on  what  was  then  the 
southwestern  frontier  of  these  United  States. 

There  were  certain  men,  though — leaders  of 
opinion  and  action  in  the  rough  young  com 
munity— whodMnotaltpget^ 
[79] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

theory  that  the  evil  eye  was  killing  off  the 
babies.  Somehow  they  learned  what  was  afoot 
and  they  followed,  hotspeed,  on  the  trail  of 
the  volunteer  executioners.  As  the  tale  has 
stood  through  nearly  a  hundred  years  of  tell 
ing,  they  arrived  barely  in  time.  When  they 
broke  through  the  ring  of  witch  burners  and 
snatched  Marm  Perry  off  the  pyre,  her  apron 
strings  had  burned  in  two.  As  for  the  cat,  it 
burst  through  the  bag  and  ran  off  through  the 
woods,  with  its  fur  all  ablaze,  and  was  never 
seen  again.  I  remember  how  I  used  to  dream 
that  story  over  and  over  again.  Always  in  my 
dreams  it  reached  its  climax  when  that  living 
firebrand  went  tearing  off  into  the  thickets. 
Somehow,  to  me,  the  unsalvaged  cat  took  on 
more  importance  than  its  rescued  owner. 

There  were  times,  too,  when  I  chanced  to  be 
the  only  caller  upon  Judge  Priest's  front  porch, 
and  these  are  the  times  which  in  retrospect 
seem  to  me  to  have  been  the  finest  of  all.  I 
used  to  slip  away  from  home  alone,  along 
toward  suppertime,  and  pay  the  Judge  a  visit. 
Many  and  many  a  day,  sitting  there  on  that 
porch  step,  I  watched  the  birds  going  to  bed. 
His  big  front  yard  was  a  great  place  for  the 
birds.  In  the  deep  grass,  all  summer  long  and 
all  day  long,  the  cock  partridge  would  be  di 
recting  the  attention  of  a  mythical  Bob  White 
to  the  fact  that  his  peaches  were  ripe  and  over 
ripe.  If  spared  by  boys  and  house  cats  until 
the  hunting  season  began  be  would  captain  a 
[80] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS     EVEN 

covey.  Now  he  was  chiefly  concerned  with  a 
family.  Years  later  I  found  that  his  dictionary 
name  was  American  quail;  but  to  us  then  he 
was  a  partridge,  and  in  our  town  we  still  know 
him  by  no  other  title. 

Forgetting  all  about  the  dogs  and  the  guns 
of  the  autumn  before  he  would  even  invade 
Judge  Priest's  chicken  lot  to  pick  up  titbits 
overlooked  by  the  dull-eyed  resident  flock; 
and  toward  twilight,  growing  bolder  still,  he 
would  whistle  and  whistle  from  the  tall  white 
gate  post  of  the  front  fence,  while  his  trim 
brown  helpmate  clucked  lullabies  to  her 
speckled  brood  in  the  rank  tangle  back  of  the 
quince  bushes. 

When  the  redbirds  called  it  a  day  and  knocked 
off,  the  mocking  birds  took  up  the  job  and  on 
clear  moonlight  nights  sang  all  night  in  the 
honey  locusts.  Just  before  sunset  yellow- 
hammers  would  be  flickering  about,  tremen 
dously  occupied  with  things  forgotten  until 
then;  and  the  chimney  swifts  that  nested  in 
Judge  Priest's  chimney  would  go  whooshing 
up  and  down  the  sooty  flue,  making  haunted- 
house  noises  in  the  old  sitting  room  below. 

Sprawled  in  his  favourite  porch  chair,  the 
Judge  would  talk  and  I  would  listen.  Some 
times,  the  situation  being  reversed,  I  would 
talk  and  he  listen.  Under  the  spell  of  his  sym 
pathetic  understanding  I  would  be  moved  to  do 
what  that  most  sensitive  and  secretive  of  crea 
tures— asmaJborar 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

bestow  my  confidences  upon  him.  And  if  he 
felt  like  laughing — at  least,  he  never  laughed. 
And  if  he  felt  that  the  disclosures  called  for  a 
lecture  he  rarely  did  that,  either;  but  if  he  did 
the  admonition  was  so  cleverly  sugar-coated  by 
his  way  of  framing  it  that  I  took  it  down  with 
out  tasting  it. 

As  I  see  the  vision  now,  it  was  at  the  close  of 
a  mighty  warm  day,  when  the  sun  went  down 
as  a  red-hot  ball  and  all  the  west  was  copper- 
plated  with  promise  of  more  heat  to-morrow, 
when  Mr.  Herman  Felslburg  passed.  I  don't 
know  what  errand  was  taking  him  up  Clay 
Street  that  evening — he  lived  clear  over  on  the 
other  side  of  town.  But,  anyway,  he  passed; 
and  as  he  headed  into  the  sunset  glow  I  was 
inspired  by  a  boy's  instinctive  appreciation  of 
the  ludicrous  to  speak  of  the  peculiar  conforma 
tion  of  Mr.  Felsburg's  legs.  I  don't  recall  now 
just  what  it  was  I  said,  but  I  do  recall,  as  clearly 
as  though  it  happened  yesterday,  the  look  that 
came  into  Judge  Priest's  chubby  round  face. 

"  Aha! "  he  said;  and  from  the  way  he  said  it  I 
knew  he  was  displeased  with  me.  He  didn't 
scold  me,  though — only  he  peered  at  me  over 
his  glasses  until  I  felt  my  repentant  soul  shrivel 
ling  smaller  and  smaller  inside  of  me;  and  then 
after  a  bit  he  said:  "Aha!  Well,  son,  I  reckin 
mebbe  you're  right.  Old  Man  Herman  has  got 
a  funny -lookin'  pair  of  laigs,  ain't  he?  They  do 
look  kinder  like  a  set  of  hames  that  ain't  been 
treated  kindly,  don't  they?  Whut  was  it  you 
[82] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS      EVEN 

said  they  favoured — horse  collars,  wasn't  it?" 

I  tucked  a  regretful  head  down  between  my 
hunched  shoulders,  making  no  reply.  After 
another  little  pause  he  went  on: 

"Well,  sonny,  ef  you  should  be  spared  to  grow 
up  to  be  a  man,  and  there  should  be  a  war  comin' 
along,  and  you  should  git  drawed  into  it  some 
way,  jest  you  remember  this:  Ef  your  laigs 
take  you  into  ez  many  tight  places  and  into  ez 
many  hard-fit  fights  as  I've  saw  them  little 
crookedy  laigs  takin'  that  little  man,  you  won't 
have  no  call  to  feel  ashamed  of  'em — not  even 
ef  yours  should  be  so  twisted  you'd  have  to 
walk  backward  in  order  to  go  furward. " 

At  hearing  this  my  astonishment  was  so  great 
I  forgot  my  remorse  of  a  minute  before.  I  took 
it  for  granted  that  off  yonder,  in  those  far-away 
days,  most  of  the  older  men  in  our  town  had 
seen  service  on  one  side  or  the  other  in  the  Big 
War — mainly  on  the  Southern  side.  But  some 
how  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  Mr.  Herman 
Felsburg  might  also  have  been  a  soldier.  As 
far  back  as  I  recalled  he  had  been  in  the  clothing 
business.  Boy  like,  I  assumed  he  had  always 
been  in  the  clothing  business.  So 

"Was  Mr.  Felsburg  in  the  war?"  I  asked. 

"He  most  suttinly  was,"  answered  Judge 
Priest. 

"As  a  regular  sure-nuff  soldier!"  I  asked, 
still  in  doubt. 

"Ez  a  reg'lar  sure-nuff  soldier." 

I  considered  for  a  moment. 

[83] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Why,  he's  Jewish,  ain't  he,  Judge?"  I  asked 
next. 

"So  fur  as  my  best  information  and  belief  go, 
he's  practically  exclusively  all  Jewish,"  said 
Judge  Priest  with  a  little  chuckle. 

"But  I  didn't  think  Jewish  gentlemen  ever 
did  any  fighting,  Judge?" 

I  imagine  that  bewilderment  was  in  my  tone, 
for  my  juvenile  education  was  undergoing  en 
largement  by  leaps  and  bounds. 

"Didn't  you?"  he  said.  "Well,  boy,  you  go 
to  Sunday  school,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir — every  Sunday — nearly." 

"Well,  didn't  you  ever  hear  tell  at  Sunday 
school  of  a  little  feller  named  David  that  taken 
a  rock-sling  and  killed  a  big  giant  named  Go 
liath?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but " 

"Well,  that  there  little  feller  David  was  a 
Jew." 

"I  know,  sir;  but — but  that  was  so  long  ago!" 

"It  was  quite  a  spell  back,  and  that's  a  fact," 
agreed  Judge  Priest.  "Even  so,  I  reckin  human 
nature  continues  to  keep  right  on  bein'  human 
nature.  You'll  be  findin'  that  out,  son,  when 
you  git  a  little  further  along  in  years.  They 
learnt  you  about  Samson,  too,  didn't  they — at 
that  there  Sunday  school?" 

I  ajaa  quite  sure  I  must  have  shown  enthusiasm 
along  here.  At  that  period  Samson  was,  with 
me,  a  favourite  character  in  history.  By  rea 
son  of  his  recorded  performances  he  held  rank 

[84] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

in  my  estimation  with  Israel  Putnam  and 
General  N.  B.  Forrest. 

"Aha!"  continued  the  Judge.  "Old  Man 
Samson  was  right  smart  of  a  fighter,  takin'  one 
thing  with  another,  wasn't  he?  Remember 
hearin'  about  that  time  when  he  taken  the  jaw 
bone  of  an  ass  and  killed  up  I  don't  know  how 
many  of  them  old  Philistines?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  And  then  that  other  time  when 
they  cut  off  his  hair  short  and  put  him  in  jail, 
and  after  it  grew  out  again  he  pulled  the  temple 
right  smack  down  and  killed  everybody!" 

"It  strikes  me  I  did  hear  somebody  speakin' 
of  that  circumstance  too.  I  expect  it  must 
have  created  a  right  smart  talk  round  the  neigh 
bourhood. " 

I  can  hear  the  old  Judge  saying  this,  and  I 
can  see — across  the  years — the  quizzical  lit 
tle  wrinkles  bunching  at  the  corners  of  his 
eyes. 

He  sat  a  minute  looking  down  at  me  and 
smiling. 

"Samson  was  much  of  a  man — and  he  was 
a  Jew." 

"Was  he?"    I  \yas  shocked  in  a  new  place. 

"That's  jest  exactly  what  he  was.  And 
there  was  a  man  oncet  named  Judas — not  the 
Judas  you've  heared  about,  but  a  feller  with 
the  full  name  of  Judas  Maccabseus;  and  he 
was  such  a  pert  hand  at  fightin'  they  called 
him  the  Hammer  of  the  Jews.  Judgin'  by 
whut  I've  been  able  to  glean  about  him,  his 
[85] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

enemies  felt  jest  as  well  satisfied  ef  they  could 
hear,  before  the  hostilities  started,  that  Judas 
was  laid  up  sick  in  bed  somewheres.  It  taken 
considerable  of  a  load  off  their  minds,  ez  you 
might  say. 

"But — jest  as  you  was  sayin',  son,  about 
David — it's  been  a  good  while  since  them  par 
ties  flourished.  When  we  look  back  on  it,  it 
stretches  all  the  way  frum  here  to  B.  C.;  and 
that's  a  good  long  stretch,  and  a  lot  of  things 
have  been  happenin'  meantime.  But  I  some 
times  git  to  thinkin'  that  mebbe  little  Herman 
Felsburg  has  got  some  of  that  old-time  Jew 
fightin'  blood  in  his  veins.  Anyhow,  he  be 
longs  to  the  same  breed.  No,  sirree,  sonny; 
it  don't  always  pay  to  judge  a  man  by  his 
laigs.  You  kin  do  that  with  reguards  to  a  frog 
or  a  grasshopper,  or  even  sometimes  with  a 
chicken;  but  not  with  a  man.  It  ain't  the 
shape  of  'em  that  counts — it's  where  they'll 
take  you  in  time  of  trouble." 

He  cocked  his  head  down  at  me — I  saying 
nothing  at  all.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  any 
thing  for  me  to  say;  so  I  maintained  silence 
and  he  spoke  on: 

"You  jest  bear  that  in  mind  next  time  you 
feel  moved  to  talk  about  laigs.  And  ef  it 
should  happen  to  be  Mister  Felsburg's  laigs  that 
you're  takin'  fur  your  text,  remember  this 
whut  I'm  tellin'  you  now:  They  may  be 
crooked;  but,  son,  there  ain't  no  gamer  pair  of 
laigs  nowheres  in  this  world.  I've  seen  'em 
[86] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

carryin'  him  into  battle  when,  all  the  time, 
my  knees  was  knockin'  together,  the  same  ez 
one  of  these  here  end  men  in  a  minstrel  show 
knocks  his  bones  together.  His  laigs  may  'a' 
trembled  a  little  bit  too — I  ain't  sayin'  they 
didn't — but  they  kept  right  on  promenadin' 
him  up  to  where  the  trouble  was;  and  that's 
the  main  p'int  with  a  set  of  shanks.  You  jest 
remember  that." 

Being  sufficiently  humbled  I  said  I  would 
remember  it. 

"There's  still  another  thing  about  Herman 
Felsburg's  laigs  that  most  people  round  here 
don't  know,  neither,"  added  Judge  Priest 
when  I  had  made  my  pledge :  "All  up  and  down 
the  back  sides  of  his  calves,  and  clear  down 
on  his  shins,  there's  a  whole  passel  of  little  red 
marks.  There's  so  many  of  them  little  scars 
that  they  look  jest  like  lacework  on  his  skin." 

"Did  he  get  them  in  the  war?"  I  inquired 
eagerly,  scenting  a  story. 

"No;  he  got  them  before  the  war  came 
along,"  said  Judge  Priest.  "Some  of  these 
times,  sonny,  when  you're  a  little  bit  older, 
I'll  tell  you  a  tale  about  them  scars  on  Mr. 
Felsburg's  laigs.  There  ain't  many  besides  me 
that  knows  it." 

"Couldn't  I  hear  it  now?"  I  asked. 

"I  reckin  you  ain't  a  suitable  age  to  un 
derstand — yit,"  said  Judge  Priest.  "I  reckin 
we'd  better  wait  a  few  years.  But  I  won't  for- 
git — I'll  tell  you  when  the  time's  ripe.  Any- 
[87] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

how,  there's  somethin'  else  afoot  now — some- 
thin'  that  ought  to  interest  a  hongry  boy." 

I  became  aware  of  his  house  servant — Jeff 
Poindexter — standing  in  the  hall  doorway, 
waiting  until  his  master  concluded  whatever 
he  might  be  saying  in  order  to  make  an  im 
portant  announcement. 

"All  right,  Jeff!"  said  Judge  Priest.  "I'll 
be  there  in  a  minute."  Then,  turning  to  me: 
**  Son-boy,  hadn't  you  better  stay  here  fur 
supper  with  me?  I  expect  there's  vittles 
enough  fur  two.  Come  on — I'll  make  Jeff  run 
over  to  your  house  and  tell  your  mother  I 
kept  you  to  supper  with  me." 

After  that  memorable  supper  with  Judge 
Priest — all  the  meals  I  ever  took  as  his  guest 
were  memorable  events  and  still  are — ensues  a 
lapse,  to  be  measured  by  years,  before  I  heard 
the  second  chapter  of  what  might  be  called 
the  tale  of  Mr.  Felsburg's  legs.  I  heard  it  one 
evening  in  the  Judge's  sitting  room. 

A  squeak  had  come  into  my  voice,  and 
there  was  a  suspicion  of  down — a  mere  trace, 
as  the  chemists  say — on  my  upper  lip.  I  was 
in  the  second  week  of  proud  incumbency  of  my 
first  regular  job.  I  had  gone  to  work  on  the 
Daily  Evening  News — the  cubbiest  of  cub  re 
porters,  green  as  a  young  gourd,  but  proud  as 
Potiphar  over  my  new  job  and  my  new  respon 
sibilities.  This  time  it  was  professional  duty 
rather  than  the  social  instinct  that  took  me 

to  the  old  Judge's  house. 

[88] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

I  had  been  charged  by  my  editor  to  get 
from  him  divers  litigatious  facts  relating  to  a 
decision  he  had  that  day  rendered  in  the  cir 
cuit  court  where  he  presided.  The  informa 
tion  having  been  vouchsafed,  the  talk  took  a 
various  trend.  Somewhere  in  the  course  of  it 
Mr.  Felsburg's  name  came  up  and  my  mem 
ory  ran  back  like  a  spark  along  a  tarred  string 
to  that  other  day  when  he  had  promised  to  re 
late  to  me  an  episode  connected  with  certain 
small  scars  on  those  two  bandy  legs  of  our 
leading  clothing  merchant. 

The  present  occasion  seemed  fitting  for  hear 
ing  this  long-delayed  narrative.  I  reminded 
my  host  of  his  olden  promise;  and  between 
puffs  at  his  corncob  pipe  he  told  me  the  thing 
which  I  retell  here  and  now,  except  that,  for 
purposes  of  convenience,  I  have  translated  the 
actual  wording  of  it  out  of  Judge  Priest's  ver 
nacular  into  my  own. 

So  doing,  it  devolves  upon  me,  first  off,  to 
introduce  into  the  main  theme  a  character  not 
heretofore  mentioned — a  man  named  Thomas 
Albritton,  a  farmer  in  our  country,  and  at  one 
period  a  prosperous  one.  He  lived,  while  he 
lived — for  he  has  been  dead  a  good  while  now 
— six  miles  from  town,  on  the  Massac  Creek 
Road.  He  lived  there  all  his  days.  His  father 
before  him  had  cleared  the  timber  off  the  land 
and  built  the  two-room  log  house  of  squared 
logs,  with  the  open  "gallery"  between.  With 
additions,  the  house  grew  in  time  to  be  a  ram- 
[89] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

bling,  roomy  structure,  but  from  first  to  last  it 
kept  its  identity;  and  even  after  the  last  of 
the  old  tenants  died  off  or  moved  off,  and  new 
tenants  moved  in,  it  was  still  known  as  the  Al- 
britton  place.  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary, 
it  yet  goes  by  that  name. 

From  pioneer  days  on  until  this  Thomas 
Albritton  became  heir  to  the  farm  and  head  of 
the  family,  the  Albrittons  had  been  a  fore 
handed  breed — people  with  a  name  for  thrift. 
In  fact,  I  had  it  that  night  from  the  old  Judge 
that,  for  a  good  many  years  after  he  grew  up, 
this  Thomas  Albritton  enjoyed  his  due  share  of 
affluence.  He  raised  as  good  a  grade  of  to 
bacco  and  as  many  bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre 
as  anybody  in  the  Massac  Bottoms  raised;  and, 
so  far  as  ready  money  went,  he  was  better  off 
than  most  of  his  neighbours. 

Perhaps,  though,  he  was  not  so  provident  as 
his  sire  had  been;  or  perhaps,  in  a  financial 
way,  he  had  in  his  latter  years  more  than  his 
share  of  bad  luck.  Anyhow,  after  a  while  he 
began  to  go  downhill  financially,  which  is 
another  way  of  saying  he  got  into  debt.  Piece 
by  piece  he  sold  off  strips  of  the  fertile  creek 
lands  his  father  had  cleared.  There  came  a 
day  when  he  owned  only  the  house,  standing 
in  its  grove  of  honey  locusts,  and  the  twenty 
acres  surrounding  it;  and  the  title  to  those 
remaining  possessions  was  lapped  and  over 
lapped  by  mortgages. 

It  is  the  rule  of  this  merry  little  planet  of 
[90] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

ours  that  some  must  go  up  while  others  go  down. 
Otherwise  there  would  be  no  room  at  the  top 
for  those  who  climb.  Mr.  Herman  Felsburg 
was  one  who  steadily  went  up.  When  first  I 
knew  him  he  was  rated  among  the  wealthy  men 
of  our  town.  By  local  standards  of  those  days 
he  was  rich — very  rich.  To  me,  then,  it  seemed 
that  always  he  must  have  been  rich.  But 
here  Judge  Priest  undeceived  me. 

When  Mr.  Felsburg,  after  four  years  of  hon 
ourable  service  as  a  private  soldier  in  the  army 
of  the  late  Southern  Confederacy,  came  back 
with  the  straggling  handful  that  was  left  of 
Company  B  to  the  place  where  he  had  enlisted, 
he  owned  of  this  world's  goods  just  the  rags  he 
stood  in,  plus  a  canny  brain,  a  provident  and 
saving  instinct,  and  a  natural  aptitude  for  bar 
ter  and  trade. 

Somewhere,  somehow,  he  scraped  together  a 
meagre  capital  of  a  few  dollars,  and  with  this 
he  opened  a  tiny  cheap-John  shop  down  on 
Market  Square,  where  he  sold  gimcracks  to 
darkies  and  poor  whites.  He  prospered — it 
was  inevitable  that  he  should  prosper.  He  took 
unto  himself  a  wife  of  his  own  people;  and  be 
tween  periods  of  bearing  him  children  she 
helped  him  to  save.  He  brought  his  younger 
brother,  Ike,  over  from  the  old  country  and 
made  Ike  a  full  partner  with  him  in  his  growing 
business. 

Long  before  those  of  my  own  generation  were 
born  the  little  store  down  on  Market  Square 
[91] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

was  a  reminiscence.  Two  blocks  uptown,  on 
the  busiest  corner  in  town,  stood  Felsburg 
Brothers'  Oak  Hall  Clothing  Emporium,  then, 
as  now,  the  largest  and  the  most  enterprising 
merchandising  establishment  in  our  end  of  the 
state.  If  you  could  not  find  it  at  Felsburg 
Brothers'  you  simply  could  not  find  it  any 
where — that  was  all.  It  was  more  than  a  store; 
it  was  an  institution,  like  the  courthouse  and 
the  county-fair  grounds. 

The  multitudinous  affairs  of  the  industry  he 
had  founded  did  not  engage  the  energies  of  the 
busy  little  man  with  the  funny  legs  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  other  things.  As  the  saying  goes,  he 
branched  out.  He  didn't  speculate — he  was 
too  conservative  for  that;  but  where  there 
seemed  a  chance  to  invest  an  honest  dollar  with 
a  reasonable  degree  of  certainty  of  getting 
back,  say,  a  dollar-ten  in  due  time,  he  invested. 
Some  people  called  it  luck,  which  is  what  some 
people  always  call  it  when  it  turns  out  so;  but, 
whether  it  was  luck  or  just  foresight,  whatso 
ever  he  touched  seemed  bound  to  flourish  and 
beget  dividends. 

Eventually,  as  befitting  one  who  had  risen 
to  be  a  commanding  figure  in  the  commercial 
affairs  of  the  community,  Mr.  Felsburg  became 
an  active  factor  in  its  financial  affairs.  As  a 
stockholder,  the  Commonwealth  Bank  wel 
comed  him  to  its  hospitable  midst.  Soon  it 
saw  its  way  clear  to  making  him  a  director  and 
vice  president.  There  was  promise  of  profit 
[92] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

in  the  use  of  his  name.  Printed  on  the  letter 
heads,  it  gave  added  solidity  and  added  sub 
stantiality  to  the  bank's  roster.  People  liked 
him  too.  Behind  his  short  round  back  they 
might  gibe  at  the  shape  of  his  legs,  and  laugh 
at  his  ways  of  butchering  up  the  English  lan 
guage  and  twisting  up  the  metaphors  with 
which  he  besprinkled  his  everyday  walk  and 
conversation;  but,  all  the  same,  they  liked  him. 

So,  in  his  orbit  Mr.  Herman  Felsburg  went 
up  and  up  to  the  very  peaks  of  prominence; 
and  while  he  did  this,  that  other  man  I  have 
mentioned — Thomas  Albritton — went  down  and 
down  until  he  descended  to  the  very  bottom 
of  things. 

In  the  fullness  of  time  the  lines  of  these  two 
crossed,  for  it  was  at  the  Commonwealth  Bank 
that  Albritton  negotiated  the  first  and,  later, 
the  second  of  his  loans  upon  his  homestead. 
Indeed,  it  was  Mr.  Felsburg  who  both  times 
insisted  that  Albritton  be  permitted  to  borrow, 
even  though,  when  the  matter  of  making  the 
second  mortgage  came  up,  another  director, 
who  specialised  in  county  property,  pointed 
out  that,  to  begin  with,  Albritton  wasn't  doing 
very  well;  and  that,  in  the  second  place,  the 
amount  of  his  indebtedness  already  was  as 
much  and  very  possibly  more  than  as  much  as 
the  farm  would  bring  at  forced  sale. 

Even  though  the  bank  bought  it  in  to  pro 
tect  itself — and  in  his  gloomy  mind's  eye  this 
director  foresaw  such  a  contingency — it  might 
[93] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

mean  a  cash  loss;  but  Mr.  Felsburg  stood  pat; 
and,  against  the  judgment  of  his  associates,  he 
had  his  way  about  it.  Subsequently,  when  Mr. 
Felsburg  himself  offered  to  relieve  the  bank 
of  all  possibility  of  an  ultimate  deficit  by  buy 
ing  Albritton's  paper,  the  rest  of  the  board 
felt  relieved.  Practically  by  acclamation  he 
was  permitted  to  do  so. 

Of  this,  however,  the  borrower  knew  noth 
ing  at  all,  Mr.  Felsburg  having  made  it  a  con 
dition  that  his  purchase  should  be  a  private 
transaction.  So  far  as  the  borrower's  knowl 
edge  went,  he  owed  principal  and  interest  to 
the  bank.  There  was  no  reason  why  Albrit- 
ton  should  suspect  that  Mr.  Herman  Felsburg 
took  any  interest,  selfish  or  otherwise,  in  his 
affairs,  or  that  Mr.  Felsburg  entertained  covet 
ous  designs  upon  his  possessions.  Mr.  Fels 
burg  wasn't  a  money  lender.  He  was  a  cloth 
ing  merchant.  And  Albritton  wasn't  a  busi 
ness  man — his  present  condition,  stripped  as 
he  was  of  most  of  his  inheritance,  and  with 
the  remaining  portion  heavily  encumbered, 
gave  ample  proof  of  that. 

Besides,  the  two  men  scarcely  knew  each 
other.  Albritton  was  an  occasional  customer 
at  the  Oak  Hall.  But,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
so  was  nearly  everybody  else  in  Red  Gravel 
County;  and  when  he  came  in  to  make  a  pur 
chase  it  was  never  the  senior  member  of  the 
firm  but  always  one  of  the  clerks  who  served 
him.  At  such  times  Mr.  Felsburg,  from  the 
[94] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS     EVEN 

back  part  of  the  store,  would  watch  Mr.  Al- 
britton  steadily.  He  never  approached  him, 
never  offered  to  speak  to  him;  but  he  watched 
him. 

One  day,  not  so  very  long  after  the  date 
when  Mr.  Felsburg  privately  took  over  the 
mortgages  on  the  Albritton  place,  Albritton 
drove  in  with  a  load  of  tobacco  for  the  Buckner 
&  Keys  Warehouse;  and,  leaving  his  team  and 
loaded  wagon  outside,  he  went  into  the  Oak 
Hall  to  buy  something.  Adolph  Dreifus,  one 
of  the  salesmen,  waited  on  him  as  he  often  had 
before. 

The  owners  of  the  establishment  were  at  the 
moment  engaged  in  conference  in  the  rear  of 
the  store.  Mr.  Ike  Felsburg  was  urging,  with 
all  the  eloquence  at  his  command,  the  advisa 
bility  of  adding  a  line  of  trunks  awd  suit  cases 
to  the  stock — a  venture  which  he  personally 
strongly  favoured — when  he  became  aware  that 
his  brother  was  not  heeding  what  he  had  to 
say.  Instead  of  heeding,  Mr.  Herman  was 
peering  along  a  vista  of  counters  and  garment 
racks  to  where  Adolph  Dreifus  stood  on  one 
side  of  a  show  case  and  Tom  Albritton  stood 
on  the  other.  There  was  a  queer  expression 
on  Mr.  Felsburg's  face.  His  eyes  were  squinted 
and  his  tongue  licked  at  his  lower  lip. 

"Hermy,"  said  the  younger  man,  irritated 
that  his  brother's  attention  should  go  wander 
ing  afar  while  a  subject  of  such  importance 
was  under  discussion,  "Hermy,  would  you 
[95] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

please  be  so  good  as  to  listen  to  me  what  I  am 
saying  to  you?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Mr.  Herman  con 
tinued  to  stare  straight  ahead.  Mr.  Ike  raised 
his  voice  impatiently: 

"Hermy!" 

The  older  man  turned  on  him  with  such  sud 
denness  that  Mr.  Ike  almost  slipped  off  the 
stool  upon  which  he  was  perched. 

"What's  the  idea — yelling  in  my  ear  like  a 
graven  image?"  demanded  Mr.  Herman  angrily. 
"Do  you  think  maybe  I  am  deef  or  something? " 

"But,  Hermy,"  complained  Mr.  Ike,  "you 
ain't  listening  at  all.  Twice  now  I  have  to  call 
you;  in  fact,  three  times." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Mr.  Herman  with  elabo 
rate  sarcasm.  "I  suppose  you  think  I  got 
nothing  whatever  at  all  to  do  except  I  should 
listen  to  you?  If  I  should  spend  all  my  time 
listening  to  you  where  would  this  here  Oak 
Hall  Clothing  Emporium  be?  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  that.  Gabble,  gabble,  gabble  all  day 
long — that  is  you!  Me,  I  don't  talk  so  much; 
but  I  do  some  thinking." 

"But  this  is  important,  what  I  am  trying 
to  tell  you,  Hermy.  Why  should  you  be 
watching  yonder,  with  a  look  on  your  face  like 
as  if  you  would  like  to  bite  somebody?  Adolph 
Dreifus  ain't  so  dumb  in  the  head  but  what  he 
could  sell  a  pair  of  suspenders  or  something 
without  your  glaring  at  him  every  move  what 

he  makes." 

[96] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS     EVEN 

"Did  I  say  I  was  looking  at  Adolph  Drei- 
fus?"  asked  Mr.  Herman  truculently. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  ain't  looking  at  Adolph, 
why  should  you  look  so  hard  at  that  Albritton 
fellow?  He  don't  owe  us  any  money,  so  far  as 
I  know.  For  what  he  gets  he  pays  cash,  else 
we  positively  wouldn't  let  him  have  the  goods. 
I've  seen  you  acting  like  this  before,  Hermy. 
Every  time  that  Albritton  comes  in  this  place 
you  drop  whatever  you  are  doing  and  hang 
round  and  hang  round,  watching  him.  I  no 
ticed  it  before;  and  I  should  like  to  ask " 

"Mister  Ikey  Felsburg,"  said  Mr.  Herman 
slowly,  "if  you  could  mind  your  own  business 
I  should  possibly  be  able  to  mind  mine.  Re 
member  this,  if  you  please — I  look  at  who  I 
please.  You  are  too  nosey  and  you  talk  too 
damn  much  with  your  mouth !  I  am  older  than 
what  you  are;  and  I  tell  you  this — a  talking 
jaw  gathers  no  moss.  Also,  I  would  like  to 
know,  do  my  eyes  belong  to  me  or  do  they 
maybe  belong  to  you,  and  you  have  just 
loaned  'em  to  me  for  a  temporary  accommo 
dation?" 

"But,  Hermy " 

"Ike,  shut  up!" 

And  Mr.  Ike,  warned  by  the  tone  in  his 
brother's  voice,  shut  up. 

One  afternoon,  perhaps  six  months  after  this 
passage  between  the  two  partners,  Mr.  Her 
man  crossed  the  street  from  the  Oak  Hall  to 
the  Commonwealth  Bank  to  make  a  deposit. 
[97] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

Through  his  wicket  window  Herb  Kivil,  the 
cashier,  spoke  to  him,  lowering  his  voice: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Felsburg;  you  remember  that 
Albritton  matter  you  were  speaking  to  me 
about  week  before  last?" 

Mr.  Felsburg  nodded. 

"Well,  the  last  interest  payment  is  more 
than  a  month  overdue  now;  and,  on  top  of 
that,  Albritton  still  owes  the  payment  that  was 
due  three  months  before  that.  There's  not  a 
chance  in  the  world  of  his  being  able  to  pay  up. 
He  practically  admitted  as  much  when  he  was 
in  here  last,  asking  for  more  time.  So  I've  fol 
lowed  your  instructions  in  the  matter." 

"That's  a  good  boy,  Herby — a  very  good 
boy,"  said  Mr.  Felsburg,  seemingly  much  grati 
fied.  "You  wrote  him,  then,  like  I  told  you?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  wrote  him.  Yesterday  I  served 
notice  on  him  by  mail  that  we  would  have  to 
go  ahead  and  foreclose  right  away.  So  this 
morning  he  called  me  up  by  telephone  from  out 
in  the  country  and  asked  us  to  hold  off,  please, 
until  he  could  come  in  here  and  talk  the  thing 
over  again." 

"Does  he  think  maybe  he  can  pay  his  just 
debts  with  talk?"  inquired  Mr.  Felsburg. 

"Well,  if  he  does  I'll  mighty  soon  undeceive 
him,"  said  Kivil.  "And  yet  I  can't  help  but 
feel  sorry  for  the  poor  devil — he's  had  an  awful 
run  of  luck,  by  all  accounts.  But  here's  the 
thing  I  mainly  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about: 
You  see,  he  still  thinks  the  bank  holds  these 
[98] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

mortgages.  He  doesn't  know  you  bought  'em 
from  the  bank;  and  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
was  this:  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  him  the 
truth  when  he  comes  in,  or  would  you  rather 
I  waited  and  let  him  find  it  out  for  himself 
when  the  foreclosure  goes  through  and  the 
sheriff  takes  possession?" 

"Don't  do  neither  one,"  ordered  Mr.  Fels- 
burg.  "You  should  call  him  up  right  away  and 
tell  him  to  come  in  to  see  about  it  to-morrow 
at  ten  o'clock.  And  then,  Herby,  when  he  does 
come  in,  you  should  tell  him  he  should  step 
over  to  the  Oak  Hall  and  see  me  in  my  office. 
That's  all  what  you  should  tell  him.  I  got 
reasons  of  my  own  why  I  should  prefer  to 
break  the  news  to  him  myself.  Understand, 
Herby?" 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Felsburg,"  said  Mr. 
Kivil.  "The  minute  he  steps  in  here — before 
he's  had  time  to  open  up  the  subject — I'm  to 
send  him  over  to  see  you.  Is  that  right?" 

"That's  exactly  right,  Herby."  And,  with 
pleased  puckers  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  Mr. 
Felsburg  turned  away  and  went  stumping  out. 

Physically  Mr.  Felsburg  didn't  in  the  least 
suggest  a  cat,  and  yet,  after  he  was  gone,  Cash 
ier  Kivil  found  himself  likening  Mr.  Felsburg 
to  a  cat  with  long  claws — a  cat  that  would  play 
a  long  time  with  a  captive  mouse  before  killing 
it.  He  turned  to  his  assistant,  Emanuel  Moon. 

"What's  bred  in  the  bone  is  bound  to  show 
sooner  or  later,"  said  Herb  Kivil  sagely.  "I 
[99] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

never  thought  cf  it  before — but  I  guess  there 
must  be  a  mighty  mean  streak  in  Mr.  Fels- 
burg  somewheres.  I  know  this  much:  I'd  hate 
mightily  to  owe  him  any  money.  Did  you  see 
that  look  on  his  face?  He  looked  like  a  regular 
little  old  Shylock.  I'll  bet  you  he  takes  his 
pound  of  flesh  every  pop — with  an  extra  half 
pound  or  so  thrown  in  for  good  measure." 

Long  before  ten  o'clock  the  following  morn 
ing  Mr.  Felsburg  sat  waiting  in  his  little  cubicle 
of  a  private  office  on  the  mezzanine  floor  at 
the  back  of  the  Oak  Hall.  He  kept  taking  out 
his  watch  and  looking  at  it.  About  ten  min 
utes  past  the  hour  one  of  the  clerks  climbed 
the  stairs  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Thomas  Albrit- 
ton,  from  out  in  the  Massac  Creek  neighbour 
hood,  was  below,  asking  to  see  him. 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Felsburg;  "you  should 
send  him  up  here  to  me  right  away.  Tell  him 
I  said,  please,  he  should  step  this  way." 

Presently,  the  clunk  of  heavy  feet  sounding 
on  the  steps,  Mr.  Felsburg  reared  himself  back 
in  his  chair  at  his  desk  with  an  expectant, 
eager  look  on  his  face.  In  the  doorway  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs  appeared  the  man  for  whom 
he  waited — a  middle-aged  man  with  slumped 
shoulders,  in  worn,  soiled  garments,  and  in 
every  line  of  his  harassed  face  expressing  the 
fact  that  here  stood  a  failure,  mutely  craving 
the  pardon  of  the  world  for  being  a  failure. 
The  yellow  dust  of  country  roads  was  thick, 
like  powdered  sulphur,  in  the  wrinkles  of  his 
[100] 


MR.      FELSBURG     GETS      EVEN 

shoes  and  the  creases  of  his  shabby  old  coat. 
He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Good  mornin',  Mr.  Felsburg,"  he  said. 

"Morning!" 

Mr.  Felsburg  returned  the  greeting  with  a 
sharp  and  businesslike  brevity.  He;  :d!a  rot 
invite  the  caller  to  seat  himself.  -In  the  small 
room  there  was  but  one  chair-^thje  \Qn£:  that, 
held  Mr.  Felsburg's  short  form.  So,  during 
the  early  part  of  the  scene  that  followed,  Al- 
britton  continued  to  stand,  while  Mr.  Felsburg 
enjoyed  the  advantage  of  being  seated  and 
at  his  ease  where,  without  stirring,  he  might, 
from  beneath  his  lowered  brows,  look  the  other 
up  and  down. 

"I've  just  come  from  over  at  the  Common 
wealth  Bank,"  said  Albritton,  fumbling  his 
hat.  "I  came  in  to  see  about  getting  an  exten 
sion  on  my  loans,  and  Mr.  Kivil,  over  there, 
said  I  was  to  come  on  over  here  and  talk  to 
you  first.  He  said  you  wanted  to  see  me  'bout 
something — if  I  understood  him  right." 

Mr.  Felsburg  nodded  in  affirmation  of  this, 
but  made  no  other  reply.  Albritton,  having 
halted  for  a  moment,  went  on  again: 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about 
my  affairs,  you  being  a  director  of  the  bank?" 

"And  also,  furthermore,  vice  president," 
supplemented  Mr.  Felsburg. 

"Yes,  suh.  Just  so.  And  that's  what  made 
me  suppose " 

Mr.  Felsburg  raised  a  fat,  short  hand  upon 
[101] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

which  the  biggest,  whitest  diamond  in  Red 
Gravel  County  glittered. 

"You  should  not  talk  with  me  as  an  officer 
of  that  bank  —  if  you  will  be  so  good,  please," 
he  stated.  "You  should  talk  with  me  now  as 
an  individual." 

"An  individual?     I'm  afraid  I  don't  under- 


"Pretty  soon  you  will,  Mr.  Albritton.  This 
is  an  individual  matter  —  just  between  you  and 
me;  because  I,  and  not  the  bank,  am  the  party 
what  holds  these  here  mortgages  on  your 
place." 

"You  hold  'em?" 

"Sure!  I  bought  both  those  mortgages  off 
the  bank  quite  some  time  ago.  I  own  those 
mortgages  —  and  not  anybody  else  whatsoever." 

"But  I  thought- 

"You  don't  need  to  think.  You  need  only 
that  you  should  listen  at  what  I  am  telling  you 
now.  It  is  me  —  Herman  Felsburg,  Esquire,  of 
the  Oak  Hall  Clothing  Emporium  —  to  which 
you  owe  this  money,  principal  and  likewise 
interest.  So  we  will  talk  together,  man  to 
man,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Albritton.  Do  I  make 
myself  plain?  I  do." 

The  debtor  dropped  to  his  side  the  hand 
with  which  he  had  been  rubbing  a  perplexed 
forehead.  A  little  gleam,  as  of  hope  reawaken 
ing,  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,  suh,"  he  said,  "you  sort  of  take  me 
by  surprise  —  I  didn't  have  any  idea  that  was 
[102] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

the  state  of  the  case  at  all.  Then,  all  along, 
the  bank  has  just  been  representing  you  in 
the  matter?" 

"As  my  agent — yes,"  said  the  little  merchant. 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  sorry 
to  hear  it,"  said  Albritton.  "A  bank  has  got 
its  rules,  I  reckin,  and  has  to  live  up  to  'em. 
But,  dealing  with  you,  suh,  as  an  individual, 
is  another  thing  altogether.  Anyhow,  I'm  hop 
ing  so,  Mr.  Felsburg." 

"How  you  make  that  out?" 

Mr.  Felsburg's  tone  was  so  sharply  staccato 
that  Albritton's  face  fell  a  little. 

"Well,  suh,  I'm  hoping  that  maybe  you  can 
see  your  way  clear  not  to  foreclose  on  me  just 
yet  a  while.  I'd  hate  mightily  to  lose  my 
home — I  would  so!  I  was  born  there,  Mr. 
Felsburg.  And  I've  got  a  sickly  wife  and  a 
whole  houseful  of  children.  I  don't  know  where 
I'd  turn  to  get  another  roof  over  their  heads  if 
I  was  driven  off  my  place.  I  know  I  owe  you 
the  money  and  by  law  you're  entitled  to  it; 
but  I  certainly  would  appreciate  the  favour  if 
you'd  give  me  a  little  more  time." 

"So?  And  was  there  any  other  little  favour 
you'd  like  to  ask  from  me,  Mr.  Albritton?" 
inquired  Mr.  Felsburg  with  impressive  polite 
ness. 

Perhaps  the  other  missed  the  note  in  the 
speaker's  voice;  or  perhaps  he  was  merely 
desperate.  A  drowning  man  does  not  pick 
and  choose  the  straws  at  which  he  grasps. 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Yes,  suh;  since  you  bring  up  the  subject 
yourself,  there  is  something  else,  Mr.  Felsburg. 
If  you  can  see  your  way  clear  to  giving  me  a 
little  time,  and,  on  top  of  that,  if  you  could 
loan  me,  say,  four  hundred  dollars  more  to  help 
carry  me  over  until  fall,  I  believe  I  can  pay  you 
back  everything  and  start  clean  and  clear  again." 

"So-o-o!" 

Mr.  Felsburg  turned  himself  in  his  chair, 
showing  his  back  to  his  visitor,  and,  taking 
up  a  pen,  bent  over  his  desk  and  for  a  minute 
wrote  briskly,  as  though  to  record  notes  of  the 
proposition.  Then  he  swung  back  again,  fac 
ing  Albritton. 

"Let  me  see  if  I  get  you  right,  Mr.  Albrit 
ton,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly  and  prolonging 
the  suspense.  "Already  you  owe  me  money; 
and  now,  instead  of  paying  up  what  you  owe, 
you  should  like  to  borrow  yet  some  more 
money,  eh?  What  security  should  you  expect 
to  give,  Mr.  Albritton?" 

"Only  my  word  and  my  promise,  Mr.  Fels 
burg,"  pleaded  Albritton.  "You  don't  know 
me  very  well;  but  if  you'll  inquire  round  you'll 
find  out  I've  got  the  name  for  being  an  honest 
man,  even  if  I  have  had  a  power  of  hard  luck 
these  last  few  years.  I  ain't  a  drinking  man, 
Mr.  Felsburg,  and  I'm  a  hard  worker.  If  there 
was  somebody  I  knew  better  than  I  know  you 
I'd  go  to  him;  but  there  ain't  anybody.  I'm 
right  at  the  end  of  my  rope — I  ain't  got  any- 
where  to  turn. 

[104] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

"I'm  confident,  if  you'll  give  me  a  little 
help,  Mr.  Felsburg,  I  can  make  out  to  get  a 
new  start.  But  if  I'm  put  off  my  place  now 
I'll  lose  the  crop  I've  put  in — lose  all  my  time 
and  my  labour  too.  It  looks  like  tobacco  is 
going  to  fetch  a  better  price  this  fall  than  it's 
fetched  for  three  or  four  years  back,  and  the 
young  plants  I've  put  in  are  coming  up  mighty 
promising.  But  I  need  money  to  carry  me 
over  until  I  can  get  my  tobacco  cured  and 
marketed.  Don't  you  see  how  it  is  with 
me,  Mr.  Felsburg?  Just  a  little  temporary 
accommodation  from  you  and  I'm  certain 

"Business  is  business,  Mr.  Albritton,"  said 
Mr.  Felsburg,  cutting  in  on  him.  "And  all 
my  life  I  have  been  a  business  man.  Is  it  good 
business,  I  should  like  to  ask  you,  that  I  should 
loan  you  yet  more  money  when  already  you 
owe  me  money  which  you  cannot  pay?  Huh, 
Mr.  Albritton?" 

"Maybe  it  ain't  good  business;  but,  just  as 
one  human  being  to  another— 

"Oh!  So  now  you  put  it  that  way?  Well, 
suit  yourself.  We  talk,  then,  as  two  human 
beings,  eh?  We  make  this  a  personal  mat 
ter,  eh?  Good!  That  also  is  how  I  should 
prefer  it  should  be.  Listen  to  me  for  one  little 
minute,  Mr.  Albritton.  I  am  going  to  speak 
with  you  about  a  small  matter  which  happened 
quite  a  long  while  ago.  Do  you  perhaps  re- 
member  something  which  happened  in  the 
[105] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

spring  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty 
— the  yea?  before  the  war  broke  out?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Albritton  after  a  moment 
of  puzzled  thought.  "That  was  the  year  my 
father  died  and  left  me  the  place;  the  same 
year  that  I  got  married  too.  I  wasn't  but  just 
twenty-two  years  old  then.  But  I  don't  get 
your  drift,  Mr.  Felsburg.  What's  the  year 
eighteen-sixty  got  to  do  with  you  and  me?" 

"I'm  coming  to  that  pretty  soon,"  said  Mr. 
Felsburg.  He  sat  up  straight  now,  his  eyes 
ashine  and  his  hands  clenched  on  the  arms  of 
his  chair.  "Do  you  perhaps  remember  some 
thing  else  which  also  happened  in  that  year, 
Mr.  Albritton?" 

"I  can't  say  as  I  do,"  confessed  the  puzzled 
countryman. 

"Then,  if  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  listen,  Mr. 
Albritton,  I  should  be  pleased  to  tell  you. 
Maybe  I  have  got  a  better  memory  than  what 
your  memory  is.  Also,  maybe  I  have  got 
something  on  me  to  remember  it  by.  Now 
you  listen  to  me! 

"There  was  a  hot  day  in  the  springtime  of 
that  year,  when  you  sat  on  the  porch  of  your 
house  out  there  in  the  country,  and  a  little 
young  Jew-boy  pedlar  came  up  your  lane 
from  the  road,  with  a  pack  on  his  back;  and  he 
opened  the  gate  of  your  horse  lot,  in  the  front 
of  your  house,  and  he  came  through  that  gate. 

"And  you  was  sitting  there  on  your  porch, 
just  like  I  am  telling  you;  and  you  yelled  to 
[106]  ~ " 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

him  that  he  should  get  out — that  you  did  not 
want  to  buy  nothing  from  him.  Well,  maybe 
he  was  new  in  this  country  and  could  not  un 
derstand  all  what  you  meant.  Or  maybe  it 
was  that  he  was  very  tired  and  hot,  and  that 
he  only  wanted  to  ask  you  to  let  him  sit  down 
and  take  his  heavy  pack  off  his  back,  and 
drink  some  cool  water  out  of  your  well,  and 
maybe  rest  a  little  while  there.  And  maybe, 
too,  he  had  not  sold  anything  at  all  that  day 
and  hoped  that  if  he  showed  you  what  he  had 
you  would  perhaps  change  your  mind  and  buy 
something  from  him — just  a  little  something, 
so  that  his  whole  day  would  not  be  wasted. 

"So  he  came  through  that  gate  of  your 
horse  lot  and  he  kept  on  coming.  And  then 
you  cursed  at  him,  and  you  told  him  again  he 
should  get  out.  But  he  kept  coming.  And 
then  you  called  your  dogs.  And  two  dogs 
came — big,  mean  dogs — out  from  under  your 
house. 

"And  when  he  saw  the  dogs  come  from 
under  the  house,  that  young  Jew  boy  he  turned 
round  and  he  tried  to  run  away  and  save  him 
self.  But  the  pack  on  his  back  was  heavy, 
and  he  was  already  so  very  tired,  like  I  am 
telling  you,  from  walking  in  the  sun  all  day. 
And  so  he  could  not  run  fast.  And  the  dogs 
they  soon  caught  him,  and  they  bit  him  many 
times  in  the  legs;  and  then  he  was  more  worse 
scared  than  before  and  the  biting  hurt  him 

very  much,  and  he  cried  out. 

[107] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"But  you  stood  there  on  your  porch;  and 
you  clapped  your  two  hands  together  and  you 
laughed  to  hear  that  poor  little  pedlar  boy 
cry  out.  And  your  dogs  chased  him  away 
down  the  lane,  and  they  bit  him  still  more  in 
his  legs.  Maybe  perhaps  you  thought  a  poor 
Jew  would  not  have  feelings  the  same  as  you? 
Maybe  perhaps  you  thought  he  would  not  bleed 
when  those  sharp  teeth  bit  him  in  his  legs?  So 
you  clapped  your  hands  and  you  laughed  to 
see  him  run  and  to  hear  him  yell  out  that  way. 
Do  you  remember  all  that,  Mr.  Albritton?" 

He  stood  up  now,  shaking  all  over;  and  his 
eyes  glittered  to  match  the  diamond  on  his 
quivering  hand.  They  glittered  like  two  little 
hard  bright  stones. 

Under  the  tan  the  face  of  the  man  at  whom 
he  glared  turned  a  dull  brick-dust  red.  Al 
britton  put  up  a  hand  to  one  burning  cheek; 
and  as  he  made  answer  the  words  came  from  him 
haltingly,  self -accusingly : 

"I  don't  remember  it,  Mr.  Felsburg;  but  if 
you  say  it's  true — why,  I  reckin  it  must  'a' 
happened  just  the  way  you  tell  it.  It  was  a 
low-down,  cruel,  mean  thing  to  do;  and  if  it 
was  me  I'm  sorry  for  it — even  now,  after  all 
these  years.  I  wasn't  much  more  than  a  boy, 
though;  and " 

"You  were  a  grown  man,  Mr.  Albritton; 
anyhow,  you  were  older  than  the  little  pedlar 
boy  that  your  dogs  bit.  You  say  you  are  sorry 
now;  but  you  forgot  about  it,  didn't  you?  I 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

didn't  forget  about  it,  Mr.  Albritton!  All 
these  years  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  All  these 
years  I  have  been  waiting  for  this  day  to  make 
you  sorry.  All  these  years  I  have  been  waiting 
for  this  day  to  get  even  with  you.  I  was  that 
little  Jew  boy,  Mr.  Albritton.  In  my  legs  I 
have  now  the  red  marks  from  your  dogs'  teeth. 
And  so  now  you  come  here  and  you  stand  here 
before  me" — he  raised  his  chubby  clenched 
fists  and  shook  them — "and  you — you — you — 
ask  me  that  I  should  do  you  favours!" 

"Mr.  Felsburg,"  said  Albritton — and  his  fig 
ure  drooped  as  though  he  would  prostrate  him 
self  before  the  triumphant  little  man — "I  ain't 
saying  this  because  I  hope  to  get  any  help 
from  you  in  a  money  way — I  know  there's  no 
chance  of  that  now — I'm  saying  it  because  I 
mean  it  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  I'm 
sorry.  If  I  thought  you'd  believe  me  I'd  be 
willing  to  go  down  on  my  knees  and  take  my 
Bible  oath  that  I'm  sorry." 

"You  should  save  yourself  the  trouble,  Mr. 
Albritton,"  said  Mr.  Felsburg,  calmer  now. 
"In  the  part  of  your  Bible  which  I  believe  in 
it  says  'An  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth,'  Mr.  Albritton." 

"All  right!"  said  Albritton.  "You've  had 
your  say — you're  even  with  me." 

He  turned  from  the  gloating  figure  of  the 
other  and  started  to  go.  From  the  chair  in 
which  he  had  reseated  himself,  Felsburg,  a  pic 
ture  of  vengeance  gratified  and  sated,  watched 
[109] 


THOSE      TIMES-    AND     THESE 

him,  saying  nothing  until  the  bankrupt  had 
descended  the  first  step  of  the  stairs  and  the 
second.  Then  he  spoke. 

"You  wait!"  he  ordered  in  the  tone  of  a 
master.  "I  am  not  yet  done." 

"What's  the  use?"  said  Albritton;  but  he 
faced  about,  humbled  and  crushed.  "There 
ain't  anything  you  could  say  or  do  that  would 
make  me  feel  any  worse." 

"Come  back!"  bade  Felsburg;  and,  like  a 
man  whipped,  the  other  came  back  to  the 
doorway. 

"You're  even  with  me,  I  tell  you,"  he  said 
from  the  threshold.  "What's  the  use  of  piling 
it  on?" 

Mr.  Felsburg  did  not  answer  in  words.  He 
reached  behind  him  to  his  desk,  wadded  up 
something  in  his  fingers,  and,  once  more  rising, 
he  advanced,  with  his  figure  distended,  on  Al 
britton.  Albritton  flinched,  then  straightened 
himself. 

"Hit  me  if  you  want  to,"  he  said  brokenly. 
"I  won't  hit  back  if  you  do.  I  deserve 
it." 

"Yes,  I  will  hit  you,"  said  Felsburg.  "With 
this  I  will  hit  you." 

Into  Albritton's  right  hand  he  thrust  a  crum 
pled  slip  of  paper.  At  the  wadded  paper  Al 
britton  stared  numbly. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving  at,"  he 
said;  "but,  if  this  is  a  notice  of  foreclosure,  I 
don't  need  any  notice."  

[no] 


MR.      FELSBURG      GETS      EVEN 

"Look  at  it — close,"  bade  Felsburg. 

And  Albritton,  obeying,  looked;  and  his  face 
turned  from  red  to  white  and  then  to  red 
again. 

"Now  you  see  what  it  is,"  said  Felsburg. 
"It  is  my  check  for  four  hundred  dollars.  I 
loan  it  to  you — without  security;  and  to-day 
I  fix  up  those  mortgages  for  you.  Mr.  Albrit 
ton,  I  am  even  with  you.  All  the  days  from 
now  on  that  you  live  in  your  house  I  am 
getting  even  with  you — more  and  more  every 
day  what  passes.  And  now,  please,  go 
away." 

He  turned  from  the  other,  ignoring  the  fum 
bling  hand  that  would  have  taken  his  own  in 
its  grasp;  and,  resting  his  elbows  on  his  desk, 
he  put  his  face  in  his  cupped  palms  and  spoke 
from  between  his  fingers: 

"I  ask  you  again — please  go  away!" 

When  Judge  Priest  had  finished  telling  me 
the  story,  in  form  much  as  I  have  retold  it 
here,  he  sat  back,  drawing  hard  on  his  pipe, 
which  had  gone  out.  Bewildered,  I  pondered 
the  climax  of  the  tale. 

"But  if  Mr.  Felsburg  really  wanted  to  get 
even,"  I  said  at  length,  "what  made  him  give 
that  man  the  money?" 

The  Judge  scratched  a  match  on  a  linen- 
clad  flank  and  applied  the  flame  to  the  pipe- 
bowl;  and  then,  between  puffs,  made  answer 
slowly. 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Son,"  he  said,  "you  jest  think  it  over  in 
your  spare  time.  I  reckin  mebbe  when  you're 
a  little  older  the  answer '11  come  to  you." 

And  sure  enough,  when  I  was  a  little  older  it 
did. 


[112] 


CHAPTER    IV 
THE    GARB    OF   MEN 


THEY  used  to  say — and  how  long  ago  it 
seems  since  they  used  to  say  it! — that 
the    world    would    never    see    another 
world  war.    They  said  that  the  planet, 
being  more  or  less  highly  civilised  with  regard 
to  its  principal  geographical  divisions,  and  in 
the    main    peaceably    inclined,    would    never 
again   send   forth   armed   millions   to   sjit   the 
throats  of  yet  other  armed  millions.    That  was 
what  they  said  back  yonder  in  1912  and  1913, 
and  in  the  early  part  of  1914  even. 

But  something  happened — something  un 
foreseen  and  unexpected  and  unplausible  hap 
pened.  And,  at  that,  the  structure  of  amity 
between  the  nations  which  so  carefully  had 
been  built  up  on  treaty  and  pledge,  so  shrewdly 
tongued-and-grooved  by  the  promises  of  Chris 
tian  statesmen,  so  beautifully  puttied  up  by  the 
prayers  of  Christian  men,  so  excellently  dove 
tailed  and  mortised  and  rabbeted  together,  all 
at  once  broke  down,  span  by  span;  just  as  it  is 
claimed  that  a  fiddler  who  stations  himself  in 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

the  middle  of  a  bridge  and  plays  upon  his  fiddle 
a  certain  note  may,  if  only  he  keeps  up  his 
playing  long  enough,  play  down  that  bridge, 
however  strong  and  well-piered  it  is. 

We  still  regard  the  fiddle  theory  as  a  fable 
concocted  upon  a  hypothesis  of  physics;  but 
when  that  other  thing  happened — a  thing  ut 
terly  inconceivable — we  so  quickly  adjusted 
ourselves  to  it  that  at  once  yesterday's  impos 
sibility  became  to-day's  actuality  and  to-mor 
row's  certain  prospect. 

This  war  having  begun,  they  said  it  could 
not  at  the  very  most  last  more  than  a  few 
months;  that  the  countries  immediately  con 
cerned  could  not,  any  of  them,  for  very  long 
withstand  the  drains  upon  them  in  men  and 
money  and  munitions  and  misery;  that  the 
people  at  home  would  rise  in  revolt  against 
the  stupid  malignity  of  it,  if  the  men  at  the 
front  did  not. 

Only  a  few  war-seasoned  elderly  men,  in 
cluding  one  in  a  War  Office  at  London  and 
one  in  a  General  Staff  at  Berlin  and  one  in  a 
Cabinet  Chamber  at  Paris,  warned  their  re 
spective  people  to  prepare  themselves  for  a 
struggle  bloodier,  and  more  violent  and  cost 
lier,  and  possibly  more  prolonged,  than  any 
war  within  the  memories  of  living  men. 

At  first  we  couldn't  believe  that  either;  none 
of  us  could  believe  it.  But  those  old  men  were 
right  and  the  rest  of  us  were  wrong.  The 
words  of  the  war  wiseacres  came  true. 

___ 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

Presently  we  beheld  enacted  the  intolerable 
situation  they  had  predicted;  and  in  our  own 
country  at  least  the  tallies  of  dead,  as  enumer 
ated  in  the  foreign  dispatches,  began  to  mean 
to  us  only  headlines  on  the  second  page  of  the 
morning  paper. 

Then  they  said  that  when,  by  slaughter  and 
maiming  and  incredible  exertion,  the  man 
hood  of  Europe  had  been  decimated  to  a  given 
point  the  actual  physical  exhaustion  of  the 
combatants  would  force  all  the  armies  to  a 
standstill.  But  the  thing  went  on. 

It  went  on  through  its  first  year  and  through 
its  second  year.  We  saw  it  going  on  into  its 
third  year,  with  no  sign  of  abatement,  no  evi 
dence  of  a  weakening  anywhere  among  the 
states  and  the  peoples  immediately  affected. 
We  saw  our  own  country  drawn  into  it.  And 
so,  figuring  what  might  lie  in  front  of  us  and 
them  by  what  laid  behind,  we  might,  without 
violence  to  credibility,  figure  it  as  going  on 
until  all  of  Britain's  able-bodied  adult  male 
population  wore  khaki  or  had  been  buried  in 
it;  until  sundry  millions  of  the  men  of  France 
were  corpses  or  on  crutches;  until  Germania 
had  scraped  and  harrowed  and  combed  her 
domains  for  cannon  fodder;  until  Russia's 
countless  supply  of  prime  human  grist  for  the 
red  hopper  of  this  red  mill  no  longer  was  count 
less  but  countable. 

There  is  a  town  in  the  northern  part  of  the 
Republic  of  France  called  Courney.  Rather, 
~~  [115] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

I  should  say  that  once  upon  a  time  there  was 
such  a  town.  Considered  as  a  town,  bearing 
the  outward  manifestations  of  a  town  and 
nourishing  within  it  the  communal  spirit  of  a 
town,  it  ceased  to  exist  quite  a  time  back. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  with  that  town,  or  with  the 
recent  site  of  it,  that  this  story  purports  to 
deal. 

There  is  no  particular  need  of  our  trying  to 
recreate  the  picture  of  it  as  it  was  before  the 
war  began.  Before  the  war  it  was  one  of  a 
vast  number  of  suchlike  drowsy,  cosy  little 
towns  lying,  each  one  of  them,  in  the  midst  of 
tilled  fat  acres  on  the  breasts  of  a  pleasant 
land;  a  town  with  the  grey  highroad  running 
through  it  to  form  its  main  street,  and  with 
farms  and  orchards  and  vineyards  and  garden 
patches  round  about  it;  so  that  in  the  spring 
time,  when  the  orchard  trees  bloomed  and  the 
grapevines  put  forth  their  young  leaves  and 
the  wind  blew,  it  became  a  little  island,  set  in 
the  centre  of  a  little,  billowy  green-and-white 
sea;  a  town  of  snug  small  houses  of  red  brick 
and  grey  brick,  with  a  priest  and  a  mayor,  a 
schoolhouse  and  a  beet-sugar  factory,  a  town 
well  for  the  gossips  and  a  town  shrine  for  the 
devout. 

Nor  is  there  any  especial  necessity  for  us  to 
try  to  describe  it  as  it  was  after  the  war  had 
rolled  forward  and  back  and  forward  again 
over  it;  for  then  it  was  transformed  as  most 
of  those  small  towns  that  lay  in  the  tracks  of 
["6] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 


the  hostile  armies  were  transformed.  It  be 
came  a  ruin,  a  most  utter  and  complete  and 
squalid  ruin,  filled  with  sights  that  were  affronts 
to  the  eye  and  smells  that  were  abominations  to 
the  nose. 

In  this  place  there  abode,  at  the  time  of 
which  I  aim  to  write,  a  few  living  creatures. 
They  were  human  beings,  but  they  had  ceased 
to  exist  after  the  ordinary  fashion  of  human 
beings  in  this  twentieth  century  of  ours.  So 
often,  in  the  first  months  and  the  first  years 
of  the  war,  had  their  simple  but  ample  stand 
ards  been  forcibly  upset  that  by  now  almost 
they  had  forgotten  such  standards  had  ever 
been. 

To  them  yesterday  was  a  dimming  memory, 
and  to-morrow  a  dismal  prospect  without  hope 
in  it  of  anything  better.  To-day  was  all  and 
everything  to  them;  each  day  was  destiny  it 
self.  Just  to  get  through  it  with  breath  of  life 
in  one's  body  and  rags  over  one's  hide  and  a 
shelter  above  one's  head — that  was  the  first 
and  the  last  of  their  aim.  They  lived  not  be 
cause  life  was  worth  while  any  more,  but  be 
cause  to  keep  on  living  is  an  instinct,  and  be 
cause  most  human  beings  are  so  blessed — or, 
maybe,  so  cursed — with  a  certain  adaptability 
of  temperament,  a  certain  inherent  knack  of 
adjustability  that  they  may  endure  any  thing- 
even  the  unendurable — if  only  they  have  ceased 
to  think  about  the  past  and  to  fret  about  the 
future. 

[117] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

And  these  people  in  this  town  had  ceased  to 
think.  They  were  out  of  habit  with  thinking. 
A  long  time  before,  their  sensibilities  had  been 
rocked  to  sleep  by  the  everlasting  lullaby  of 
the  cannon;  their  imaginations  were  wrapped 
in  a  smoky  coma.  They  lived  on  without  con 
scious  effort,  without  conscious  ambition,  al 
most  without  conscious  desire:  just  as  blind 
worms  live  under  a  bank,  or  slugs  in  a  marsh, 
or  protoplasms  in  a  pond. 

Once,  twice,  three  times  Courney  had  been 
a  stepping-stone  in  the  swept  and  garnished 
pathways  of  battle.  Back  in  September  of 
1914  the  Germans,  sweeping  southward  as  an 
irresistible  force,  took  possession  of  this  town, 
after  shelling  it  quite  flat  with  their  big  guns 
to  drive  out  the  defending  garrison  of  French 
and  British.  Then,  a  little  later,  in  front  of 
Paris  the  irresistible  force  met  the  immovable 
body  and  answered  the  old,  old  question  of  the 
scientists;  and,  as  the  Germans  fell  back  to  dig 
themselves  in  along  the  Somme  and  the  Aisne, 
there  was  again  desperate  hard  fighting  here, 
and  many,  very  many,  lives  were  spent  in  the 
effort  of  one  side  to  take  and  retain,  and  of  the 
other  to  gain  and  hold  fast,  the  little  peaky 
heaps  of  wreckage  protruding  above  the  stumps 
of  the  wasted  orchard  trees. 

Now,  though,  for  a  long  time  things  had  been 
quiet  in  Courney.  Though  placed  in  debatable 
territory,  as  the  campaign  experts  regard  de 
batable  territory,  it  had  lapsed  into  an  eddy 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

and  a  backwater  of  war,  becoming,  so  to  speak, 
a  void  and  a  vacuum  amid  the  twisting  cur 
rents  of  the  war.  In  the  core  of  a  tornado 
there  may  be  calm  while  about  it  the  vortex 
swirls  and  twists.  If  this  frequently  is  true  of 
windstorms  it  occasionally  is  true  of  wars. 

Often  to  the  right  of  them  and  to  the  left  of 
them,  sometimes  far  in  front  of  them,  and 
once  in  a  while  far  back  in  the  rear  of  them, 
those  who  still  abode  at  Courney  heard  the 
distant  voices  of  the  big  guns;  but  their  place 
of  habitation,  by  reasons  of  shifts  in  the  war 
game,  was  no  longer  on  a  route  of  communica 
tion  between  separate  groups  of  the  same  fight 
ing  force.  It  was  not  even  on  a  line  of  travel. 
No  news  of  the  world  beyond  their  limited 
horizon  seeped  in  to  them.  They  did  not  know 
how  went  the  war — who  won  or  who  lost — and 
almost  they  had  quit  desiring  to  know.  What 
does  one  colony  of  blind  worms  in  a  bank  care 
how  fares  it  with  colonies  of  blind  worms  in 
other  banks? 

You  think  this  state  of  apathy  could  not 
come  to  pass?  Well,  I  know  that  it  can,  be 
cause  with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  it  coming  to  pass 
in  the  times  while  yet  the  war  was  new;  while 
it  yet  was  a  shock  and  an  affront  to  our  be 
liefs;  and  you  must  remember  that  now  I 
write  of  a  much  later  time,  when  the  world 
war  had  become  the  world's  custom. 

Also,  could  you  have  looked  in  upon  the  sur 
viving  remnant  of  the  inhabitants  of  Courney, 
[119] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

you  would  have  had  a  clearer  and  fuller  cor- 
roboration  of  the  fact  I  state,  because  then  you 
would  have  seen  that  here  in  this  place  lived 
only  those  who  were  too  old  or  too  feeble 
to  care,  or  else  were  too  young  to  under 
stand. 

All  tallied,  there  were  not  more  then  than 
twenty  remaining  of  two  or  three  hundred  who 
once  had  been  counted  as  the  people  of  this  in 
consequential  village;  and  of  these  but  two 
were  individuals  in  what  ordinarily  would  be 
called  the  prime  of  life. 

One  of  these  two  was  a  French  petty  officer, 
whose  eyes  had  been  shot  out,  and  who,  hav 
ing  been  left  behind  in  the  first  retreat  toward 
Paris,  had  been  forgotten,  and  had  stayed  be 
hind  ever  since.  The  other  had  likewise  been 
a  soldier.  He  was  a  Breton  peasant.  His  dis 
ability  seemed  slight  enough  when  he  sus 
tained  it.  A  bullet  bored  across  the  small  of 
his  back,  missing  the  spine.  But  the  bullet 
bore  with  it  minute  fragments  of  his  uniform 
coat;  and  so  laden  with  filth  had  his  outer  gar 
ments  become,  after  weeks  and  months  of 
service  in  the  field,  that,  with  the  fragments 
of  cloth,  germs  of  tetanus  had  been  carried  into 
his  flesh  also,  and  lockjaw  had  followed. 

Being  as  strong  as  a  bullock,  he  had  weath 
ered  the  hideous  agonies  of  his  disease;  but 
it  left  him  beset  with  an  affliction  like  a  queer 
sort  of  palsy,  which  affected  his  limbs,  his 
tongue,  and  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  his  face. 
[120] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 


Continually  he  twitched  all  over.  He  moved 
by  a  series  of  spasmodic  jerks,  and  when  he 
sought  to  speak  the  sounds  he  uttered  came  out 
from  his  contorted  throat  in  slobbery,  unintel 
ligible  gasps  and  grunts.  He  was  sane  enough, 
but  he  had  the  look  about  him  of  being  an  idiot. 

Besides  these  two  there  were  three  or  four 
very  aged,  very  infirm  men  on  the  edge  of  their 
dotage;  likewise  some  women,  including  one 
masterful,  high-tempered  old  woman  and  a 
younger  woman  who  wept  continuously,  with 
a  monotonous  mewing  sound,  for  a  husband 
who  was  dead  in  battle  and  for  a  fourteen- 
year-old  son  who  had  vanished  altogether  out 
of  her  life,  and  who,  for  all  she  knew,  was  dead 
too.  The  rest  were  children — young  children, 
and  a  baby  or  so.  There  were  no  sizable  youths 
whatsoever,  and  no  girls  verging  on  maiden 
hood,  remaining  in  this  place. 

So  this  small  group  was  what  was  left  of 
Courney.  Their  houses  being  gone  and  family 
ties  for  the  most  part  wiped  out,  they  con 
sorted  together  in  a  rude  communal  system 
which  a  common  misery  had  forced  upon  them. 
Theirs  was  the  primitive  socialism  that  the  cave 
dweller  may  have  known  in  his  tribe.  As  I  say, 
their  houses  were  gone;  so  they  denned  in 
holes  where  the  cellars  under  the  houses  had 
been.  Time  had  been  when  they  fled  to  the 
shelter  of  these  holes  as  the  fighting,  swinging 
northward  or  southward,  included  Courney 

in  its  orbit. 

[121] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Afterward  they  had  contrived  patchwork 
roofage  to  keep  out  the  worst  of  the  weather; 
and  now  they  called  these  underground  shel 
ters  home,  which  was  an  insult  to  the  word 
home.  Once  they  had  had  horse  meat  to  eat — 
the  flesh  of  killed  cavalry  mounts  and  wagon 
teams.  Now  perforce  they  were  vegetarians, 
living  upon  cabbages  and  beets  and  potatoes 
which  grew  hah6  wild  in  the  old  garden  patches, 
and  on  a  coarse  bran  bread  made  of  a  flour 
ground  by  hand  out  of  the  grain  that  sprouted 
in  fields  where  real  harvests  formerly  had 
grown. 

The  more  robust  and  capable  among  the 
adults  cultivated  these  poor  crops  in  a  peck 
ing  and  puny  sort  of  way.  The  children  went 
clothed  in  ancient  rags,  which  partly  covered 
their  undeveloped  and  stunted  bodies,  and 
played  in  the  rubbish;  and  sometimes  in  their 
play  they  delved  too  deep  and  uncovered  grisly 
and  horrible  objects.  On  sunny  days  the  blind 
soldier  and  the  palsied  one  sat  in  the  sunshine, 
and  when  it  rained  they  took  refuge  with  the 
others  in  whichever  of  the  leaky  burrows  was 
handiest  tor  them  to  reach.  If  they  walked 
the  Breton  towed  his  mate  in  a  crippling,  zig 
zag  course,  for  one  lacked  the  eyes  to  see  where 
he  went  and  the  other  lacked  the  ability  to 
steer  his  afflicted  legs  on  a  direct  line. 

The  wreckage  of  rafters  and  beams  and  house 
furnishings  provided  abundant  supplies  of 
wood  and  for  fires.  By  a  kind  of  general  as- 
[122] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 


sent,  headship  and  authority  were  vested 
jointly  in  the  old  tempestuous  woman  and  the 
blind  man,  for  the  reasons  that  she  had  the 
strongest  body  and  the  most  resolute  will,  and 
he  the  keenest  mind  of  them  all. 

So  these  people  lived  along,  without  a  priest 
to  give  them  comfort  by  his  preaching;  with 
out  a  physician  to  mend  their  ailments;  with 
no  set  code  of  laws  to  be  administered  and 
none  to  administer  them.  Existence  for  them 
was  reduced  to  its  raw  elementals.  Since  fre 
quently  they  heard  the  big  guns  sounding  dis 
tantly  and  faintly,  they  knew  that  the  war  still 
went  on.  And,  if  they  gave  the  matter  a 
thought,  to  them  it  seemed  that  the  war  al 
ways  would  go  on.  Time  and  the  passage  of 
time  meant  little.  A  day  was  merely  a  period 
of  lightness  marked  at  one  end  by  a  sunrise 
and  at  the  other  by  a  sunset;  and  when  that 
was  over  and  darkness  had  come,  they  bedded 
themselves  down  under  fouled  and  ragged 
coverlids  and  slept  the  dumb,  dreamless  sleep 
of  the  lower  animals.  Except  for  the  weeping 
woman  who  went  about  with  her  red  eyes  con 
tinually  streaming  and  her  whining  wail  forever 
sounding,  no  one  among  them  seemingly  gave 
thought  to  those  of  their  own  kinspeople  and 
friends  who  were  dead  or  scattered  or  missing. 

Well,  late  one  afternoon  in  the  early  fall  of 
the  year,  the  workers  had  quit  their  tasks  and 
were  gathering  in  toward  a  common  centre, 
before  the  oncoming  of  dusk,  when  they  heard 

' 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

cries  and  beheld  the  crotchety  old  woman  who 
shared  leadership  with  the  blinded  man,  run 
ning  toward  them.  She  had  been  gathering 
beets  in  one  of  the  patches  to  the  southward 
of  their  ruins;  and  now,  as  she  came  at  top 
speed  along  the  path  that  marked  where  their 
main  street  had  once  been,  threading  her  way 
swiftly  in  and  out  among  the  grey  mounds  of 
rubbish,  she  held  a  burden  of  the  red  roots  in 
her  long  bony  arms. 

She  lumbered  up,  out  of  breath,  to  tell  them 
she  had  seen  soldiers  approaching  from  the 
south.  Since  it  was  from  that  direction  they 
came,  these  soldiers  doubtlessly  would  be 
French  soldiers;  and,  that  being  so,  the  dwell 
ers  in  Courney  need  feel  no  fear  of  mistreat 
ment  at  their  hands.  Nevertheless,  always 
before,  the  coming  of  soldiers  had  meant  fight 
ing;  so,  without  waiting  to  spy  out  their  num 
ber  or  to  gauge  from  their  movements  a  hint 
of  their  possible  intentions,  she  had  hastened 
to  spread  the  alarm. 

"I  saw  them  quite  plainly!"  she  cried  out 
between  pants  for  breath.  "They  have 
marched  out  of  the  woods  yonder — the  woods 
that  bound  the  fields  below  where  the  highroad 
to  Laon  ran  in  the  old  days.  And  now  they 
are  spreading  out  across  the  field,  to  the  right 
and  the  left.  Infantry  they  are,  I  think — and 
they  have  a  machine  gun  with  them." 

"How  many,  grandmother?  How  many  of 
them  are  there?" 

I  124] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

It  was  the  eyeless  man  who  asked  the  ques 
tion.  He  had  straightened  up  from  where  he 
sat,  and  stood  erect,  with  his  arms  groping 
before  him  and  his  nostrils  dilated. 

"No  great  number,"  answered  the  old 
woman;  "perhaps  two  companies — perhaps  a 
battalion.  And  as  they  came  nearer  to  me 
they  looked — they  looked  so  queer!" 

"How?  How?  What  do  you  mean  by 
queer?  "  It  was  the  blind  man  seeking  to  know. 

She  dropped  her  burden  of  beetroots  and 
threw  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  helpless 
ness. 

"Queer!"  she  repeated  stupidly.  "Their 
clothes  now — their  clothes  seemed  not  to  fit 
them.  They  are  such  queer-looking  soldiers — 
for  Frenchmen." 

"Oh,  if  only  the  good  God  would  give  me 
back  my  eyes  for  one  little  hour!"  cried  the 
blind  man  impotently.  Then,  in  a  different 
voice,  "What  is  that?"  he  said,  and  swung 
about,  facing  north.  His  ears,  keener  than 
theirs,  as  a  blind  man's  ears  are  apt  to  be,  had 
caught,  above  the  babble  of  their  excited  voices, 
another  sound. 

Scuttling,  shuffling,  half  falling,  the  palsied 
man,  moving  at  the  best  speed  of  which  he 
was  capable,  rounded  a  heap  of  shattered  grey 
masonry  that  had  once  been  the  village  church, 
and  made  toward  the  clustered  group  of  them. 
His  jaws  worked  spasmodically.  With  one 
fluttering  hand  he  pointed,  over  his  left  shoul- 
[125] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

der,  behind  him.  He  strove  to  speak  words, 
but  from  his  throat  issued  only  clicking,  slob 
bery  grunts  and  gasps. 

"What  is  it  now?"  demanded  the  old  woman. 

She  clutched  him,  forcing  him  to  a  quaking 
standstill.  He  kept  on  gurgling  and  kept  on 
pointing. 

"Soldiers?  Are  there  more  soldiers  conir 
ing?" 

He  nodded  eagerly. 

"From  the  north?" 

He  made  signs  of  assent. 

"Frenchmen?" 

He  shook  his  head  until  it  seemed  he  would 
shake  it  off  his  shoulders. 

"Germans,  then?  From  that  way  the  Ger 
mans  are  coming,  eh?" 

Again  he  nodded,  making  queer  movements 
with  his  hands,  the  meaning  of  which  they 
could  not  interpret.  Indeed,  none  there  waited 
to  try.  With  one  accord  they  started  for  the 
deepest  and  securest  of  their  burrows — the  one 
beneath  the  battered-down  sugar-beet  factory. 
Its  fallen  walls  and  its  shattered  roof  made  a 
lid,  tons  heavy  and  yards  thick,  above  the 
cellar  of  it.  In  times  of  fighting  it  had  been 
their  safest  refuge.  So  once  more  they  ran  to 
hide  themselves  there.  The  ragged  children 
scurried  on  ahead  like  a  flight  of  autumn 
leaves.  The  very  old  men  and  the  women  fol 
lowed  after  the  children;  and  behind  all  the 
rest,  like  a  rearguard,  went  the  cripple  and  the 
[126] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 


old  woman,  steering  the  blind  man  between 
them. 

At  the  gullet  of  a  little  tunnel-like  opening 
leading  down  to  the  deep  basement  below, 
these  three  halted  a  brief  moment;  and  the 
palsied  man  and  the  woman,  looking  back 
ward,  were  in  time  to  see  a  skirmisher  in  the 
uniform  of  a  French  foot  soldier  cross  a  narrow 
vista  in  the  ruins,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards 
away,  and  vanish  behind  a  culm  of  broken 
masonry.  Seen  at  that  distance,  he  seemed 
short,  squatty — almost  gnomish.  Back  in  the 
rear  of  him  somewhere  a  bugle  sounded  a  halt 
ing,  uncertain  blast,  which  trailed  off  suddenly 
to  nothing,  as  though  the  bugler  might  be  out 
of  breath;  and  then — pow,  pow,  pow! — the 
first  shots  sounded.  High  overhead  a  misdi 
rected  bullet  whistled  with  a  droning,  queru 
lous  note.  The  three  tarried  no  longer,  but 
slid  down  into  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 

Inside  the  cellar  the  women  and  children 
already  were  stretched  close  up  to  the  thick 
stone  sides,  looking  like  flattened  piles  of  rags 
against  the  flagged  floor.  They  had  taken  due 
care,  all  of  them,  to  drop  down  out  of  line  with 
two  small  openings  which  once  had  been  win 
dows  in  the  south  wall  of  the  factory  cellar, 
and  which  now,  with  their  sashes  gone,  were 
like  square  portholes,  set  at  the  level  of  the 
earth.  Through  these  openings  came  most  of 
the  air  and  all  of  the  daylight  which  reached 

their  subterranean  retreat. 

[127] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

The  old  woman  cowered  down  in  an  angle 
of  the  wall,  rocking  back  and  forth  and  hug 
ging  her  two  bony  knees  with  her  two  bony 
arms;  but  the  maimed  soldiers,  as  befitting 
men  who  had  once  been  soldiers,  took  stations 
just  beneath  the  window  holes,  the  one  to  lis 
ten  and  the  other  to  watch  for  what  might  be 
fall  in  the  narrow  compass  of  space  lying  im 
mediately  in  front  of  them.  For  a  moment 
after  they  found  their  places  there  was  silence 
there  in  the  cellar,  save  for  the  rustling  of 
bodies  and  the  wheeze  of  forced  breathing. 
Then  a  woman's  voice  was  uplifted  wailingly: 
"Oh,  this  war!  Why  should  it  come  back  here 
again?  Why  couldn't  it  leave  us  poor  ones 
alone?" 

"Hush,  you!"  snapped  the  blinded  man  in 
a  voice  of  authority.  "There  are  men  out 
there  fighting  for  France.  Hush  and  listen!" 

A  ragged  volley,  sounding  as  though  it  had 
been  fired  almost  over  their  heads,  cut  off  her 
lamentation,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
bending  her  body  forward  to  cover  and  shield 
a  baby  that  was  between  her  knees  upon  the 
floor. 

From  a  distance,  toward  the  north,  the  firing 
was  answered.  Somewhere  close  at  hand  a 
rapid-fire  gun  began  a  staccato  outburst  as 
the  gun  crew  pumped  its  belts  of  cartridges 
into  its  barrel;  but  at  once  this  chattering  note 
became  interrupted,  and  then  it  slackened,  and 

then  it  stopped  altogether. 

[128] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

"Idiots!  Fools!  Imbeciles!"  snarled  the 
blind  man.  "They  have  jammed  the  maga 
zine!  And  listen,  comrade,  listen  to  the  rifle 
fire  from  over  here — half  a  company  firing, 
then  the  other  half.  Veterans  would  never 
fire  so.  Raw  recruits  with  green  officers — that's 
what  they  must  be.  ...  And  listen!  The 
Germans  are  no  better." 

Outside,  near  by,  a  high-pitched  strained  voice 
gave  an  order,  and  past  the  window  openings 
soldiers  began  to  pass,  some  shrilly  cheering, 
some  singing  the  song  of  France,  the  Marseillaise 
Hymn.  Their  trunks  were  not  visible.  From 
the  cellar  could  be  seen  only  their  legs  from 
the  knees  down,  with  stained  leather  leggings 
on  each  pair  of  shanks,  and  their  feet,  in  heavy 
military  boots,  sliding  and  slithering  over  the 
cinders  and  the  shards  of  broken  tiling  along 
side  the  wrecked  factory  wall. 

Peering  upward,  trying  vainly  at  his  angled 
range  of  vision  to  see  the  bodies  of  those  who 
passed,  the  palsied  man  reached  out  and 
grasped  the  arm  of  his  mate  in  a  hard  grip, 
uttering  meaningless  sounds.  It  was  as  though 
he  spught  to  tell  of  some  astounding  discovery 
he  had  just  made. 

"Yes,  yes,  brother;  I  understand,"  said  the 
blind  man.  "I  cannot  see,  but  I  can  hear. 
There  is  no  swing  to  their  step,  eh?  Their 
feet  scuftie  inside  their  boots,  eh?  Yes,  yes,  I 
know — they  are  very  weary.  They  have  come 
far  to-day  to  fight  these  Huns.  And  how  feebly 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

they  sing  the  song  as  they  go  past  us  here! 
They  must  be  very  tired — that  is  it,  eh?  But, 
tired  or  not,  they  are  Frenchmen,  and  they  can 
fight.  Oh,  if  only  the  good  God  for  one  little 
hour,  for  one  little  minute,  would  give  me  back 
my  eyes,  to  see  the  men  of  France  fighting  for 
France!" 

The  last  straggling  pair  of  legs  went  sham 
bling  awkwardly  past  the  portholes.  To  the 
Breton,  watching,  it  appeared  that  the  owner 
of  those  legs  scarcely  could  lift  the  weight  of 
the  thick-soled  boots. 

Beyond  the  cellar,  to  the  left,  whither  the 
marchers  had  defiled,  the  firing  became  gen 
eral.  It  rose  in  volume,  sank  to  a  broken  and 
individual  sequence  of  crashes,  rose  again  in 
a  chorus,  grew  thin  and  thready  again.  There 
was  nothing  workmanlike,  nothing  soldierlike 
about  it;  nothing  steadfastly  sustained.  It 
was  intermittent,  irregular,  uncertain.  Listen 
ing,  the  blind  man  waggled  his  head  in  a  puz 
zled,  irritated  fashion,  and  shook  off  the  grasp 
of  his  comrade,  who  still  appeared  bent  on  try 
ing  to  make  something  clear  to  him. 

With  a  movement  like  that  of  a  startled 
horse  the  old  leader- woman  threw  up  her  head. 
With  her  fingers  she  clawed  the  matted  grey 
hair  out  of  her  ears. 

"Hark!  Hark!"  she  cried,  imposing  silence 
upon  all  of  them  by  her  hoarse  intensity. 
"Hark,  all  of  you!  What  is  that?" 

The  others  heard   it  too,   then.     It  was   a 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

whining,  gagging,  thin  cry  from  outside,  close 
up  against  the  southerly  wall  of  their  under 
ground  refuge — the  distressful  cry  of  an  un 
happy  child,  very  frightened  and  very  sick. 
There  was  no  mistaking  it — the  sobbing  in 
take  of  the  breath;  the  choked  note  of  nausea 
which  followed. 

"It  is  a  little  one!"  bleated  one  woman. 

"What  child  is  missing?"  screeched  another 
in  a  panic.  "What  babe  has  been  overlooked?" 

Each  mother  took  quick  and  frenzied  inven 
tory  of  her  own  young,  groping  out  with  her 
hands  to  make  sure  by  the  touch  of  their  flesh 
to  her  flesh  that  her  offspring  were  safely  be 
stowed.  But  when,  this  done,  they  turned  to 
tell  their  leader  that  apparently  all  of  Courney 
had  been  accounted  for,  she  was  gone.  She 
had  darted  into  the  dark  passage  that  led  up 
and  outward  into  the  open.  They  sat  up  on 
their  haunches,  gaping. 

A  minute  passed  and  she  was  back,  half 
bearing,  half  pulling  in  her  arms  not  a  forgot 
ten  baby,  but  a  soldier;  a  dwarfish  and  mis 
shapen  soldier,  it  seemed  to  them,  squatting 
there  in  the  fading  light;  a  soldier  whose  uni 
form  was  far  too  large  for  him;  a  soldier  whose 
head  was  buried  under  his  cap,  and  whose  face 
was  hidden  within  the  gaping  collar  of  his  coat, 
and  whose  booted  toes  scraped  along  the  rough 
flagging  as  his  rescuer  backed  in  among  them, 
dragging  him  along  with  her. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor  she  released  him, 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

and  he  fell  upon  his  side  in  a  clump  of  soiled 
cloth  and  loose  accoutrement;  and  for  just  an 
instant  they  thought  both  his  hands  had  been 
shot  away,  for  nothing  showed  below  the  ends 
of  the  flapping  sleeves  as  he  pressed  his  midriff 
in  his  folded  arms,  uttering  weak,  tearful  cries. 
Then,  though,  they  saw  that  his  hands  were 
merely  lost  within  the  length  of  his  sleeves, 
and  they  plunged  at  the  conclusion  that  his 
hurt  was  in  his  middle. 

"Ah,  the  poor  one!"  exclaimed  one  or  two. 
"Wounded  in  the  belly." 

"Wounded?"  howled  the  old  woman. 
"Wounded?  You  fools!  Don't  you  see  he  has 
no  wound?  Don't  you  see  what  it  is?  Then, 
look,  you  fools — look!" 

She  dropped  down  alongside  him  and  wres 
tled  him,  he  struggling  feebly,  over  on  his  back. 
With  a  ferocious  violence  she  snatched  the  cap 
off  his  head,  tore  his  gripped  arms  apart,  rip 
ped  open  the  coat  he  wore  and  the  coarse  shirt 
that  was  beneath  it. 

"Look,  fools,  and  see  for  yourselves!" 

Forgetting  the  danger  to  themselves  of  stray 
bullets,  they  scrambled  to  their  feet  and 
crowded  up  close  behind  her,  peering  over  her 
shoulders  as  she  reared  back  upon  her  bent 
knees  in  order  that  they  might  the  better  see. 

They  did  see.  They  saw,  looking  up  at  them 
from  beneath  the  mop  of  tousled  black  hair,  the 
scared  white  face  and  the  terror-widened  eyes  of 
a  boy — a  little,  sickly,  undernourished  boy.  He 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

could  not  have  been  more  than  fourteen — per 
haps  not  more  than  thirteen.  They  saw  in  the 
gap  of  his  parted  garments  the  narrow  struc 
ture  of  his  shape,  with  the  ribs  pressing  tight 
against  the  tender,  hairless  skin,  and  below  the 
arch  of  the  ribs  the  sunken  curve  of  his  abdo 
men,  heaving  convulsively  to  the  constant 
retching  as  he  twisted  and  wriggled  his  meagre 
body  back  and  forth. 

"Oh,  Mother  above!"  one  yowled.  "They 
have  sent  a  child  to  fight!" 

As  though  these  words  had  been  to  him  a 
command,  the  writhing  heap  half  rose  from  the 
flags. 

"I  am  no  child!"  he  cried,  between  choking 
attacks  of  nausea.  "I  am  as  old  as  the  rest — 
older  than  some.  Let  me  go!  Let  me  go 
back!  I  am  a  soldier  of  France!" 

For  all  his  brave  words,  his  trembling  legs 
gave  way  under  him,  and  he  fell  again  and 
rolled  over  on  his  stomach,  hiding  his  face  in 
his  hands,  a  whimpering,  vomiting  child,  help 
less  with  pain  and  with  fear. 

"He  speaks  true!  He  speaks  true!"  yelled 
the  old  woman.  Now  she  was  on  her  feet,  her 
lean  face  red  and  swollen  with  a  vast  rage.  "I 
saw  them — I  saw  them — I  saw  those  others  as 
I  was  dragging  this  one  in.  He  speaks  true,  I 
tell  you.  There  was  a  captain — he  could  not 
have  been  more  than  fifteen.  And  his  sword 
— it  was  as  long  as  he  was,  nearly.  There  are 
soldiers  outf  there  like  this  one,  whose  arms  are 
[  133] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

not  strong  enough  to  lift  the  guns  to  their 
shoulders.  They  are  children  who  fight  out 
side — children  in  the  garb  of  men!" 

The  widow,  who  continually  wept,  sprang 
forward.  She  had  quit  weeping  and  a  great 
and  terrible  fury  looked  out  of  her  red-lidded 
eyes.  She  screeched  in  a  voice  that  rose  above 
the  wails  of  the  rest: 

"And  it  was  for  this,  months  ago,  that  they 
took  away  from  me  my  little  Pierre!  Mother 
of  God,  they  fight  this  war  with  babies!" 

She  threw  herself  down  on  all  fours  and, 
wriggling  across  the  floor  upon  her  hands  and 
knees,  gathered  up  the  muddied,  booted  feet 
of  the  boy  soldier  and  hugged  them  to  her 
bosom. 

In  the  middle  'of  the  circle  the  old  woman 
stood,  gouging  at  her  hair  with  her  hands. 

"It  is  true!"  she  proclaimed.  "They  are 
sending  forth  our  babies  to  fight  against  strong 


men." 


The  palsied  man  twisted  himself  up  to  her. 
He  shook  his  head  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  dissent 
of  what  she  declared.  He  pointed  toward 
the  north;  then  at  the  sobbing  boy  at  his  feet; 
then  north  again;  then  at  the  boy;  and,  so  do 
ing,  he  many  times  and  very  swiftly  nodded  his 
head.  Then  he  repeated  the  same  gesticula 
tions  with  his  arms  that  he  had  made  at  the 
time  of  giving  the  first  alarm  of  the  approach 
of  the  enemy.  Finally  he  stooped  his  back  and 
shrank  up  his  body  and  hunched  in  his  shoulders 
[134]  


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 

in  an  effort  to  counterfeit  smallness  and  slight- 
ness,  all  the  while  gurgling  in  a  desperate  at 
tempt  to  make  himself  understood.  All  at  once, 
simultaneously  his  audience  grasped  the  purport 
of  his  pantomime. 

"The  Germans  that  you  saw,  they  were  chil 
dren  too — children  like  this  one?"  demanded 
the  old  woman,  her  voice  all  thickened  and 
raspy  with  her  passion.  "Is  that  what  you 
mean?" 

He  jerked  his  head  up  and  down  in  violent 
assent,  his  jaws  clicking  and  his  face  muscles 
jumping.  The  old  woman  shoved  him  away 
from  in  front  of  her. 

"Come  on  with  me!"  she  bade  the  other 
women,  in  a  tone  that  clarioned  out  high  and 
shrill  above  the  sobbing  of  the  boy  on  the  floor, 
above  the  gurgling  of  the  cripple  and  the  sound 
of  the  firing  without.  "Come  on!" 

They  knew  what  she  meant;  and  behind  her 
they  massed  themselves,  their  bodies  bent  for 
ward  from  their  waists,  their  heads  lowered 
and  their  hands  clenched  like  swimmers  about 
to  breast  a  swift  torrent. 

"Bide  where  you  are — you  women!"  the 
blinded  man  commanded.  He  felt  his  way  out 
to  the  middle  of  the  room,  barring  their  path 
with  his  body  and  his  outspread  arms.  "You 
can  do  nothing.  The  war  goes  on — this  fight 
here  goes  on — until  we  win!" 

"No,  no,  no,  no!"  shouted  back  the  old  bel 
dam,  and  at  each  word  beat  her  two  fists 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

against  her  flaccid  breasts.  "When  babies 
fight  this  war  this  war  ends!  And  we — the 
women  here — the  women  everywhere — we  will 
stop  it!  Do  you  hear  me?  We  will  stop  it! 
Come  on!" 

She  pushed  him  aside;  and,  led  by  her,  the 
tatterdemalion  crew  of  them  ran  swiftly  from 
the  cellar  and  into  the  looming  darkness  of  the 
tunnel,  crying  out  as  they  ran. 

Strictly  speaking,  the  beginning  of  this  story 
comes  at  the  end  of  it.  One  morning  in  the 
paper,  I  read,  under  small  headlines  on  an  in 
ner  page,  sandwiched  in  between  the  account 
of  a  football  game  at  Nashville  and  the  story 
of  a  dog  show  at  Newport,  a  short  dispatch  that 
had  been  sent  by  cable  to  this  country,  to  be 
printed  in  our  papers  and  to  be  read  by  our 
people,  and  then  to  be  forgotten  by  them.  And 
that  dispatch  ran  like  this: 

BOYS  TO  FIGHT  WAR  SOON 

GERMANY  USING   SOME  SEVENTEEN  YEARS   OLD. 
HAIG  WANTS  YOUNG  MEN 

LONDON — The  war  threatens  soon  to  become  a 
struggle  between  mere  boys.  The  pace  is  said  to 
be  entirely  too  fast  for  the  older  men  long  to  en 
dure.  It  is  declared  here  that  by  the  middle  of 
1917,  the  Entente  Allies  will  be  facing  boys  of  sev 
enteen  in  the  German  Army. 

General  Sir  Douglas  Haig,  commanding  the  Brit 
ish  Expeditionary  Forces,  is  said  to  have  objected 
to  the  sending  out  of  men  of  middle  age.  He  wants 
[136.] 


THE      GARB      OF      MEN 


young  men  of  from  eighteen  to  twenty-five.  After 
the  latter  year,  it  is  said,  the  fighting  value  of  the 
human  unit  shows  a  rapid  and  steady  decline.  .  .  . 
The  older  men  have  their  place;  but,  generally 
speaking,  it  is  said  now  to  be  in  "the  army  behind 
the  army" — the  men  back  of  the  line,  in  the  sup 
ply  and  transport  divisions,  where  the  strain  is  not 
so  great.  These  older  men  are  too  susceptible  to 
trench  diseases  to  be  of  great  use  on  the  firing  line. 
England  already  is  registering  boys  born  in  1899, 
preparatory  to  calling  them  up  when  they  attain 
their  eighteenth  year. 

So  I  sat  down  and  I  wrote  this  story. 


[137] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   CURE    FOR 
LONESOME  NESS 


THEY  were  on  their  way  back  from 
Father  Minor's  funeral.  Going  to  the 
graveyard  the  horses  had  ambled  slow 
ly;  coming  home  they  trotted  along 
briskly  so  that  from  under  their  feet  the  gravel 
grit  sprang  up,  to  blow  out  behind  in  little 
squills  and  pennons  of  yellow  dust.  The  black 
plumes  in  the  headstalls  of  the  white  span 
that  drew  the  empty  hearse  nodded  briskly.  It 
was  only  their  colour  which  kept  those  plumes 
from  being  downright  cheerful.  Also,  en  route 
to  the  cemetery,  the  pallbearers,  both  honor 
ary  and  active,  had  marched  in  double  file  at 
the  head  of  the  procession.  Now,  returning, 
they  rode  in  carriages  especially  provided  for 
them. 

The  first  carriage — that  is  to  say,  the  first 

one  following  the  hearse — held  four  passengers : 

firstly,  the  widowed  sister  of  the  dead  man, 

from  up  state  somewhere;  secondly  and  third- 

" [138] 


THE        CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

ly,  two  strange  priests  who  had  come  over 
from  Hopkinsburg  to  conduct  the  services; 
finally  and  fourthly,  the  late  Father  Minor's 
housekeeper,  a  lean  and  elderly  spinster  whose 
devoutness  made  her  dour;  indeed,  a  person 
whom  piety  beset  almost  as  a  physical  affliction. 
Seeing  her  any  time  at  all,  the  observer  went 
away  filled  with  the  belief  that  in  her  particular 
case  the  more  certain  this  woman  might  be  of 
blessedness  hereafter,  the  more  miserable  she 
would  feel  in  the  meantime.  Now,  as  her  grief- 
drawn  face  and  reddened  eyes  looked  forth 
from  the  carriage  window  upon  the  familiar 
panorama  of  Buckner  Street,  all  about  her  be 
spoke  the  profound  conviction  that  this  world, 
already  lost  in  sin,  was  doubly  lost  since  Father 
Minor  had  gone  to  take  his  reward. 

In  the  second  carriage  rode  four  of  the  hon 
orary  pallbearers,  and  each  of  them  was  a 
veteran,  as  the  dead  priest  had  been:  Circuit 
Judge  Priest,  Sergeant  Jimmy  Bagby,  Doctor 
Lake,  and  Mr.  Peter  J.  Galloway,  our  lead 
ing  blacksmith  and  horseshoer.  Of  these  four 
Mr.  Galloway  was  the  only  one  who  wor 
shipped  according  to  the  faith  the  dead  man  had 
preached.  But  all  of  them  were  members  in 
good  standing  of  the  Gideon  K.  Irons  Camp. 

As  though  to  match  the  changed  gait  of  the 
undertaker's  horses,  the  spirits  of  these  old 
men  were  uplifted  into  a  sort  of  tempered 
cheerfulness.  So  often  it  is  that  way  after  the 
mourners  come  away  from  the  grave.  All  that 
' 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

kindly  hands  might  do  for  him  who  was  de 
parted  out  of  this  life  had  been  done.  The 
spade  had  shaped  up  and  smoothed  down  the 
clods  which  covered  him;  the  flowers  had  been 
piled  upon  the  sexton's  mounded  handiwork 
until  the  raw  brown  earth  was  almost  hidden. 
Probably  already  the  hot  morning  sun  was 
wilting  the  blossoms.  By  to-morrow  morning 
the  petals  would  be  falling — a  drifting  testi 
mony  to  the  mortality  of  all  living  things. 

On  the  way  out  these  four  had  said  mighty 
little  to  one  another,  but  in  their  present  mood 
they  spoke  freely  cf  their  departed  comrade — 
his  sayings,  his  looks,  little  ways  that  he  had, 
stories  of  his  early  life  before  he  took  holy 
orders,  when  he  rode  hard  and  fought  hard, 
and  very  possibly  swore  hard,  as  a  trooper  in 
Morgan's  cavalry. 

"It  was  a  fine  grand  big  turnout  they  gave 
him  this  day,"  said  Mr.  Galloway  with  a  tinc 
ture  of  melancholy  pride  in  his  voice.  "Al 
most  as  many  Protestants  as  Catholics  there." 

"Herman  Felsburg  sent  the  biggest  floral  de 
sign  there  was,"  said  Doctor  Lake.  "I  saw  his 
name  on  the  card." 

"That's  the  way  Father  Tom  would  have 
liked  it  to  be,  I  reckin,"  said  Judge  Priest  from 
his  corner  of  the  carriage.  "After  all,  boys, 
the  best  test  of  a  man  ain't  so  much  the  amount 
of  cash  he's  left  in  the  bank,  but  how  many '11 
turn  out  to  pay  him  their  respects  when  they 

put  him  away." 

[  "0  ] 


THE        CURE        FOR        LONESOME  NESS 

"Still,  at  that,"  said  the  sergeant,  "I  taken 
notice  of  several  absentees — from  the  Camp,  I 
mean.  I  didn't  see  Jake  Smedley  nowheres 
around  at  the  church,  or  at  the  graveyard 
neither." 

"Jake's  got  right  porely,"  explained  Judge 
Priest.  "He's  been  lookin'  kind  of  ga'nted 
anyhow,  lately.  I'm  feared  Jake  is  beginnin' 
to  break." 

"Oh,  I  reckin  tain't  ez  bad  ez  all  that,"  said 
the  sergeant.  "You'll  see  Jake  comin'  round 
all  right  ez  soon  ez  the  weather  turns  off  cool 
ag'in.  Us  old  boys  may  be  gittin'  along  in 
years,  but  we're  a  purty  husky  crew  yit.  It's 
a  powerful  hard  job  to  kill  one  of  us  off.  I'm 
sixty-seven  myself,  but  most  of  the  time  I  feel 
ez  peart  and  sldttish  ez  a  colt."  He  spoke  for 
the  moment  vaingloriously;  then  his  tone  al 
tered:  "I'm  luckier,  though,  than  some — in 
the  matter  of  general  health.  Take  Abner 
Tilghman  now,  for  instance.  Sence  he  had 
that  second  stroke  Abner  jest  kin  make  out  to 
crawl  about.  He  wasn't  there  to-day  with  us 
neither." 

"Boys,"  said  Doctor  Lake,  "I  hope  it's  no 
reflection  on  my  professional  abilities,  but  it 
seems  to  me  I've  been  losing  a  lot  of  my  pa 
tients  here  recently.  I'm  afraid  Ab  Tilghman 
is  going  to  be  the  next  one  to  make  a  gap  in 
the  ranks.  Just  between  us,  he's  in  mighty 
bad  shape.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  any  of  you  to 
count  up  and  see  how  many  members  of  the 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Camp  we've  buried  this  past  year,  starting  in 
last  January  with  old  Professor  Reese  and 
winding  up  to-day  with  Father  Minor?" 

None  of  them  answered  him  in  words.  Only 
Judge  Priest  gave  a  little  stubborn  shake  of 
his  head,  as  though  to  ward  away  an  unpleas 
ant  thought.  Tact  inspired  Sergeant  Bagby  to 
direct  the  conversation  into  a  different  chan 
nel. 

"I  reckin  Mrs.  Herman  Felsburg  won't  know 
whut  to  do  now  with  that  extry  fish  she  always 
fries  of  a  Friday,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"That's  right  too,  Jimmy,"  said  Mr.  Gallo 
way.  "Well,  God  bless  her  anyway  for  a  fine 
lady!" 

Had  you,  reader,  enjoyed  the  advantage  of 
living  in  our  town  and  of  knowing  its  customs, 
you  would  have  understood  at  once  what  this 
last  reference  meant.  You  see,  the  Felsburgs, 
in  their  fine  home,  lived  diagonally  across  the 
street  from  the  little  priest  house  behind  the 
Catholic  church.  Mrs.  Felsburg  was  distin 
guished  for  being  a  rigid  adherent  to  the  rit 
ualistic  laws  of  her  people.  Away  from  home 
her  husband  and  her  sons  might  choose  what 
ever  fare  suited  their  several  palates,  but  be 
neath  her  roof  and  at  the  table  where  she 
presided  they  found  none  of  the  forbidden 
foods. 

On  Fridays  she  cooked  with  her  own  hands 
the  fish  for  the  cold  Shabbath  supper  and, 
having  cooked  them,  she  set  them  aside  to 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

cool.  But  always  the  finest,  crispest  fish  of 
all,  while  still  hot,  was  spread  upon  one  of  Mrs. 
Felsburg's  best  company  plates  and  covered 
over  with  one  of  Mrs.  Felsburg's  fine  white 
napkins,  and  then  a  servant  would  run  across 
the  street  with  it,  from  Mrs.  Felsburg's  side 
gate  to  the  front  door  of  the  priest  house,  and 
hand  it  in  to  the  dour-faced  housekeeper  with 
Mrs.  Felsburg's  compliments.  And  so  that 
night,  at  his  main  meal  of  the  day,  Father 
Minor  would  dine  on  prime  river  perch  or 
fresh  lake  crappie,  fried  in  olive  oil  by  an  or 
thodox  Jewess.  Year  in  and  year  out  this 
thing  had  happened  once  a  week  regularly. 
Probably  it  would  not  happen  again.  Father 
Minor's  successor,  whoever  he  might  be,  might 
not  understand.  Mr.  Galloway  nodded  ab 
stractedly,  and  for  a  little  bit  nothing  was  said. 

The  carriage  bearing  them  twisted  out  of  the 
procession,  leaving  a  gap  in  it,  and  stopped  in 
front  of  Doctor  Lake's  red-brick  residence. 
The  old  doctor  climbed  down  stiffly  and,  lean 
ing  heavily  on  his  cane,  went  up  the  walk  to 
his  house.  Next  Mr.  Galloway  was  dropped 
at  his  shabby  little  house,  snug  in  its  ambus 
cade  behind  a  bushwhacker's  paradise  of  lilac 
bushes;  and  pretty  soon  after  that  it  was  Ser 
geant  Bagby's  turn  to  get  out.  As  the  carriage 
slowed  up  for  the  third  stop  Judge  Priest  laid 
a  demurring  hand  upon  his  companion's  arm. 

"Come  on  out  to  my  place,  this  evenin', 
Jimmy,"  he  said,  "and  have  a  bite  of  supper 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

with  me.  There  won't  be  nobody  there  but 
jest  you  and  me,  and  after  supper  we  kin  set  a 
spell  and  talk  over  old  times." 

The  sergeant  shook  his  whity-grey  head  in 
regretful  dissent. 

"I  wish't  I  could,  Judge,"  he  said,  "but  it 
can't  be  done — not  to-night." 

"Better  come  on!"  The  judge's  tone  was 
pleading.  "I  sort  of  figger  that  there  old  nig 
ger  cook  of  mine  has  killed  a  young  chicken. 
And  she  kin  mix  up  a  batch  of  waffle  batter  in 
less'n  no  time  a-tall." 

"Not  to-night,  Billy;  some  night  soon  I'll 
come,  shore.  But  to-night  my  wife  is  figurin' 
on  company,  and  ef  I  don't  show  up  there'll 
be  hell  to  pay  and  no  pitch  hot." 

"Listen,  Jimmy;  listen  to  me."  The  judge 
spoke  fast,  for  the  sergeant  was  out  of  the  car 
riage  by  now.  "I've  got  a  quart  of  special 
licker  that  Lieutenant  Governor  Bosworth  sent 
me  frum  Lexington.  Thirty-two  years  old, 
Jimmy — handmade  and  run  through  a  gum  log. 
Copper  nor  iron  ain't  never  teched  it.  And 
when  you  pour  a  dram  of  it  out  into  a  glass 
it  beads  up  same  ez  ef  it  had  soapsuds  down  ic 
the  bottom  of  it — it  does  fur  a  fact.  There 
ain't  been  but  two  drinks  drunk  out  of  that 
quart." 

"Judge,  please  quit  teasin'  me!"  Like  unto 
a  peppercorn,  ground  between  the  millstones  of 
duty  and  desire,  the  sergeant  backed  reluc- 
tantly  away  from  between  the  carriage  wheels. 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

"You  know  yourse'f  how  wimmin  folks  are. 
It's  the  new  Campbellite  preacher  that's  comin' 
to-night,  and  there  won't  be  a  drop  to  drink  on 
the  table  exceptin'  maybe  lemonade  or  ice  tea. 
But  I've  jest  natchelly  got  to  be  on  hand  and, 
whut's  more,  I've  got  to  be  on  my  best  be 
haviour  too.  Dern  that  new  preacher!  Why 
couldn't  he  a-picked  out  some  other  night  than 
this  one?" 

"Jimmy,  listen 

But  the  sergeant  had  turned  and  was  fleeing 
to  sanctuary,  beyond  reach  of  the  tempter's 
tongue. 

So  for  the  last  eighth-mile  of  the  ride,  until 
the  black  driver  halted  his  team  at  the  Priest 
place  out  on  Clay  Street,  the  judge  rode  alone. 
Laboriously  he  crawled  out  from  beneath  the 
overhang  of  the  carriage  top,  handed  up  two 
bits  as  a  parting  gift  to  the  darky  on  the  seat, 
and  waddled  across  the  sidewalk. 

The  latch  on  the  gate  was  broken.  It  had 
been  broken  for  weeks.  The  old  man  slammed 
the  gate  to  with  a  passionate  jerk.  The  infirm 
latch  clicked  weakly,  then  slipped  out  of  the 
iron  nick  and  the  gate  sagged  open — an  invita 
tion  to  anybody's  wandering  livestock  to  come 
right  on  in  and  feast  upon  the  shrubs,  which 
from  lack  of  pruning  had  become  thick,  irregu 
lar  little  jungles.  Clumps  of  rank  grass,  like 
green  scalp  locks,  were  sprouting  in  the  walk, 
and  when  the  master  had  mounted  the  creaking 
steps  he  saw  where  two  porch  planks  had 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

warped  apart,  leaving  a  gap  between  them. 
In  and  out  of  the  space  ran  big  black  ants. 
The  house  needed  painting,  too,  he  noticed;  in 
places  where  the  rain  water  had  dribbled  out  of  a 
rust-hole  in  the  tin  gutter  overhead,  the  grain 
of  the  clapboarding  showed  through  its  white 
coating.  Mentally  the  judge  promised  himself 
that  he  would  take  a  couple  of  days  off  some 
time  soon  and  call  in  workmen  and  have  the 
whole  shebang  tidied  and  fixed  up.  Once  a 
place  began  to  run  down  it  seemed  to  break 
out  with  neglect  all  over,  as  with  a  rash. 

Halfway  through  his  supper  that  evening 
the  judge,  who  had  been  strangely  silent  in  the 
early  part  of  the  meal,  addressed  his  house 
boy,  Jeff  Poindexter,  in  the  accents  of  a  marked 
disapproval. 

"Look  here,  Jeff,"  he  demanded,  "have  I 
got  to  tell  you  ag'in  about  mendin*  the  ketch 
on  that  front  gate?" 

"Yas,  suh — I  means  no,  suh,"  Jeff  corrected 
himself  quickly.  "Ise  aimin'  to  do  it  fust  thing 
in  de  mawnin',  suh,"  added  Jeff  glibly,  re 
peating  a  false  pledge  for  perhaps  the  dozenth 
time  within  a  month.  "I  got  so  many  things 
to  do  round  yere,  Jedge,  dat  sometimes  hit 
seems  lak  I  can't  think  whut  nary  one  of  'em  is." 

"Huh!"  snorted  his  employer  crossly.  Then 
he  went  on  warningly:  "Some  of  these  days 
there's  goin'  to  be  a  sudden  change  in  this 
house  ef  things  ain't  attended  to  better — whole 
place  goin'  to  rack  and  ruin  like  it  is." 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

Wriggling  uneasily  Jeff  found  a  pretext  for 
withdrawing  himself,  the  situation  having  be 
come  embarrassing.  It  wasn't  often  that  the 
judge  gave  way  to  temper.  Not  that  Jeff 
feared  the  covert  threat  of  discharge.  If  any 
body  quit  it  wouldn't  be  Jeff,  as  Jeff  well 
knew.  Usually  Jeff  had  an  excuse  ready  for  any 
accusation  of  shortcomings  on  his  part;  think 
ing  them  up  was  his  regular  specialty.  But 
this  particular  moment  did  not  seem  a  propi 
tious  one  for  offering  excuses.  Jeff  noiselessly 
evaporated  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

In  silence  the  master  hurried  through  the 
meal,  eating  it  with  what  for  him  was  unusual 
speed.  He  was  beset  with  an  urge  to  be  out  of 
the  big  high-ceiled  dining  room.  Looking  about 
it  he  told  himself  it  wasn't  a  dining  room  at  all 
—just  a  bare  barracks,  full  of  emptiness  and 
mighty  little  else. 

After  supper  he  sat  on  the  porch,  while  the 
long  twilight  gloomed  into  dusk  and  the  dusk 
into  night.  He  was  half -minded  to  walk  down 
town  in  the  hope  of  finding  congenial  company 
at  Soule's  drug  store,  the  favoured  loafing  place 
of  his  dwindling  set  of  cronies.  But  he  changed 
his  mind.  Since  Mr.  Soule,  growing  infirm, 
had  taken  a  younger  man  for  a  partner,  the 
drug  store  was  changed.  Its  old-time  air  of 
hospitality  and  comfort  had  somehow  altered. 

The  judge  smoked  on,  rocking  back  and 
forth  in  his  chair.  The  bull  bats,  which  had 
been  dodging  about  in  the  air  as  long  as  the 
["7] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

daylight  lasted,  were  gone  now,  and  their  shy 
cousin,  the  whippoorwill,  began  calling  from 
down  in  the  old  Enders  orchard  at  the  far  end 
of  the  street.  Two  or  three  times  there  came 
to  Judge  Priest's  ears  the  sound  of  footsteps 
clunking  along  the  plank  sidewalk  on  his  side 
of  the  road,  and  at  that  he  sat  erect,  hoping 
each  time  the  gate  hinges  would  whine  a  warn 
ing  of  callers  dropping  in  to  bear  him  company. 
But  the  unseen  pedestrians  passed  on  without 
turning  in.  The  whippoorwill  moved  up  close 
to  Judge  Priest's  side  fence.  A  little  night 
wind  that  had  something  on  its  mind  began 
with  a  mournful  whispering  sound  to  swish 
through  the  top  of  the  big  cedar  alongside  the 
porch. 

The  judge  stood  it  until  nearly  half -past  nine 
o'clock.  Even  under  the  most  favourable  cir 
cumstances  a  whippoorwill  and  a  remorseful 
night  wind,  telling  its  troubles  to  an  evergreen 
tree,  do  not  make  what  one  would  call  exhilar 
ating  company.  He  closed  and  locked  the 
front  door,  turned  out  the  single  gas  light  which 
burned  in  the  hall  and  went  up  the  stairs.  In 
its  main  design  the  house  was  Colonial — South 
ern  Colonial.  But  his  bedroom  was  in  an  ell, 
above  a  side  porch  overlooking  the  croquet 
ground,  and  this  ell  was  adorned  with  plank 
curlicues  under  its  gables,  and  a  square,  ugly, 
useless  little  balcony,  like  a  misplaced  wooden 
moustache,  adhered  to  its  most  prominent  ele- 
vation  on  the  side  facing  the  front.  The  judge 

[148] 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

frequently  said  that,  as  nearly  as  he  could  fig 
ure  it  out,  the  extension  belonged  to  the  Ruth 
erford  B.  Hayes  period  of  American  archi 
tecture. 

Except  for  him  the  house  was  empty.  Aunt 
Dilsey  didn't  stay  on  the  place  at  night  and 
Jeff's  sleeping  quarters  were  over  the  stable  at 
the  back.  As  Judge  Priest  felt  his  way  through 
the  upper  hall  and  made  a  light  in  his  bed 
chamber,  the  house  was  giving  off  those  little 
creaking,  complaining  sounds  from  its  joints 
that  an  old  tired  house  always  gives  off  when 
it  is  lonely  for  a  fuller  measure  of  human  occu 
pancy. 

His  own  room,  revealed  now  in  its  homely 
contour  and  its  still  homelier  furnishings,  was 
neat  enough,  with  Jeff's  ideas  of  neatness,  but 
all  about  it  indubitably  betrayed  the  fact  that 
only  male  hands  cared  for  it.  The  tall  black- 
walnut  bureau  lacked  a  cover  for  its  top;  the 
mantel  was  littered  with  cigar  boxes  and  old 
law  reports;  the  dead  asparagus  ferns,  banked 
in  the  grate,  were  faded  to  a  musty  yellow;  and 
some  of  the  fronds  had  fallen  out  across  the 
hearth  so  that  remotely  the  fireplace  suggested 
the  mouth  of  a  big  cow  choking  on  an  overly 
large  bite  of  dried  hay.  In  places  the  matting 
on  the  floor  was  frayed  almost  through. 

Just  from  the  careless  skew  of  the  coverlid 
and  the  set  of  the  pillows  against  the  white 
bolster,  you  would  have  known  at  a  glance 
that  a  man  had  made  up  the  bed  that  morning. 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Barring  one  picture  the  walls  were  bare. 
This  lone  picture  hung  in  a  space  between  the 
two  front  windows,  right  where  the  occupant 
of  the  room,  if  so  minded,  might  look  at  it  the 
last  thing  at  night  and  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  Beyond  any  doubt  a  lover  of  the 
truly  refined  in  art  would  have  looked  at  it 
with  a  shudder,  for  it  was  one  of  those  crayon 
portraits — a  crayon  portrait  done  in  the  most 
crayonsome  and  grewsome  style  of  a  self-taught 
artist  working  by  the  day  rather  than  by  the 
piece.  Plainly  it  had  been  enlarged,  as  the 
trade  term  goes,  from  a  photograph;  the  en- 
larger  thereof  had  been  lavish  with  his  black 
leads;  that,  too,  was  self-evident.  The  original 
photographer  had  done  his  worst  with  the 
subject;  the  retoucher  had  gone  him  one 
better. 

It  was  a  likeness — you  might  call  it  a  like 
ness — of  a  woman  dressed  in  the  abominable 
style  of  the  late  seventies — with  heavy  bangs 
down  in  her  eyes,  and  a  tight-fitting  basque 
with  enormous  sleeves,  and  long  pendent  ear 
drops  in  her  ears.  The  artist,  whoever  he  was, 
had  striven  masterfully  to  rob  the  likeness  of 
all  expression.  There  alone  his  craftsmanship 
had  failed  him.  For  even  he  had  not  alto 
gether  taken  away  from  the  face  a  certain  sug 
gestion  of  old-fashioned  wistfulness  and  sweet 
ness.  In  all  other  regards,  though,  he  had  had 
his  reckless  way  with  it.  The  eyes  were  black 
and  staring,  the  lines  of  the  figure  stiff  and  ar- 
[150]  " " 


THE       CURE       FOR       LONESOMENESS 

tificial,  and  the  background  for  the  head  was  a 
pastel  nightmare. 

For  so  long  had  Judge  Priest  been  wifeless 
and  childless  that  many  of  the  younger  genera 
tion  in  our  town  knew  nothing  of  the  tragedy 
in  this  old  man's  life — which  was  that  the  same 
diphtheria  epidemic  that  took  both  his  babies 
in  one  week's  time  had  widowed  him  too.  We 
knew  he  loved  other  people's  children;  some 
of  us  never  suspected  that  once  upon  a  time  he 
had  had  children  of  his  own  to  love.  Except 
in  his  memory  no  images  of  the  dead  babies 
endured,  and  this  crayon  portrait  was  the  sole 
sentimental  reminder  left  to  him  of  his  married 
life.  And  so,  to  him,  it  was  a  perfect  and  a 
matchless  thing.  He  wouldn't  have  traded  it 
for  all  the  canvases  of  all  the  old  masters  in  all 
the  art  galleries  in  this  round  big  world. 

This  night,  before  he  undressed,  he  went 
over  and  stood  in  front  of  it  and  looked  at  it 
for  a  while.  There  was  dust  in  the  grooves  of 
the  heavy  tarnished  gilt  frame.  From  the  top 
bureau  drawer  he  took  a  big  silk  handkerchief 
and  carefully  he  wiped  the  dust  away.  Then, 
before  he  put  the  handkerchief  back  in  its 
place,  he  straightened  the  thing  upon  the  nail 
which  held  it,  and  gave  the  glass  front  an  awk 
ward  little  caress  with  his  pudgy  old  hand. 

"It's  been  a  long,  long  time,  honey,  since 

you  went  away  and  left  me,"  he  said  slowly, 

in  the  voice  of  one  addressing  a  hearer  very 

near  at  hand;  "but  I  still  miss  you  and  the 

[151] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

babies  powerfully.  And  sometimes  it's  sorter 
lonesome  here  without  you." 

A  little  later,  when  the  light  had  been  turned 
out,  a  noise  like  a  long,  deep  sigh  sounded  out 
in  the  darkness.  That,  though,  might  have 
been  the  wheeze  of  the  afflicted  bedsprings  as 
the  old  judge  let  his  weight  down  in  the  bed. 

An  hour  passed  and  there  was  another  small 
sound  there — a  muffled  nibbling  sound.  Be 
hind  the  wainscoting,  between  bedroom  and 
bathroom,  a  young,  adventuresome  rat  gnawed 
at  a  box  of  matches  which  he  had  found  on  the 
floor  in  the  hall  and  had  dragged  to  his  nest  in 
the  wall.  From  within  the  box  a  strangely  tan 
talising  aroma  escaped;  the  rat,  being  deluded 
thereby  into  the  belief  that  phosphorus  might 
be  an  edible  dainty,  was  minded  to  sample  the 
contents.  Presently  his  teeth  met  through  the 
cover  of  the  box.  There  was  a  sharp  flaring 
pop,  followed  by  a  swift  succession  of  other 
pops,  and  the  rat  gave  a  jump  and  departed 
elsewhere  in  great  haste,  with  a  hot  bad  smell 
in  his  snout  and  his  adolescent  whiskers  quite 
entirely  singed  away. 

The  Confederates,  in  ragged  uniforms  of  but 
ternut  jeans,  were  squatted  in  a  clump  of  paw 
paw  bushes  oh  the  edge  of  a  stretch  of  ploughed 
ground.  From  the  woods  on  the  far  side  of 
the  field  Yankee  skirmishers  were  shooting  to 
ward  them.  A  shell  from  the  batteries  must 
have  fallen  nearby  and  set  fire  to  the  dried 
[152] 


THE       CURE       FOR       LONESOMENESS 

leaves  and  the  fallen  brush,  for  the  smoke  kept 
blowing  in  a  fellow's  face,  choking  him  and 
making  him  cough.  Captain  Tip  Meldrum, 
the  commander  of  Company  B,  was  just  be 
hind  the  men,  giving  the  order  to  fire  back. 
High  Private  Billy  Priest  aimed  his  musket  at 
the  thickets  where  the  Yankees  were  hidden 
and  pulled  the  trigger,  but  the  cap  on  the  nip 
ple  of  his  piece  was  defective  or  something,  and 
the  charge  wouldn't  explode.  "Fire!  Fire! 
Fire!"  yelled  Captain  Tip  Meldrum  over  and 
over  again,  and  then  he  yanked  out  his  own 
horse-pistol  and  emptied  it  into  the  hostile  tim 
ber.  But  Private  Priest's  gun  still  balked.  He 
flung  it  down — and  found  himself  sitting  up 
in  bed,  gasping. 

The  dream  hadn't  been  altogether  a  dream 
at  that.  For  there  was  indeed  smoke  in  the 
judge's  eyes  and  his  nostrils — plenty  of  it.  A 
revolver  was  cracking  out  its  shots  somewhere 
near  at  hand;  somebody  outside  his  window 
was  shrieking  "Fire!"  at  the  top  of  a  good 
strong  voice.  In  the  distance  other  voices  were 
taking  up  the  cry. 

In  an  earlier  day,  when  a  fire  started  in 
town,  the  man  who  discovered  it  drew  his  pis 
tol  if  he  were  on  the  highway,  or  snatched  it 
up  if  he  chanced  to  be  at  home,  and  pointing 
its  barrel  at  the  sky  emptied  it  into  the  air  as 
fast  as  the  cylinder  would  turn.  The  man  next 
door  followed  suit  and  so  on  until  volleys  were 
[153] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

rattling  all  over  the  neighbourhood.  Thus  were 
the  townspeople  aroused  and,  along  with  the 
townspeople,  the  members  of  the  volunteer  fire 
department.  Now  we  had  a  paid  department 
and  a  regular  electric-alarm  system,  predicated 
on  boxes  and  gongs  and  wires  and  things;  but 
in  outlying  districts  the  pistol-shooting  fashion 
of  spreading  the  word  still  prevailed  to  a  con 
siderable  extent,  and  more  especially  did  it 
prevail  at  nighttime.  So  it  didn't  take  the  late 
dreamer  longer  than  the  shake  of  a  sheep's  tail 
to  separate  what  was  fancy  from  what  was 
reality. 

As  Judge  Priest,  yet  half  asleep  but  waking 
up  mighty  fast,  shoved  his  stout  legs  into  his 
trousers  and  tucked  the  tails  of  his  nightshirt 
down  inside  the  waistband,  he  decided  it  must 
be  his  barn  and  not  his  house  that  was  afire. 
The  smoke  which  filled  the  room  seemed  to  be 
eddying  in  through  the  side  window,  from 
across  the  end  of  the  ell  structure.  He  thought 
of  his  old  white  mare,  Mittie  May,  fast  in  her 
stall  under  the  hay  loft,  and  of  Jeff,  who  was 
one  of  the  soundest  sleepers  in  the  world,  in  his 
room  right  alongside  the  mow.  There  was  need 
for  him  to  move,  and  move  fast.  He  must 
awaken  Jeff  first,  and  then  get  Mittie  May  out 
of  danger.  Barefooted,  he  felt  his  way  across 
the  room  and  along  the  hall  and  down  the 
stairs,  mending  his  gait  as  he  went.  And  then, 
as  he  jerked  the  front  door  open  and  stumbled 
out  upon  the  porch,  he  came  into  violent  colli- 
[154]  


THE       CURE       FOR       LONESOMENESS 

sion  with  Ed  Tilghman,  Junior,  who  lived  across 
the  street,  and  who  had  just  bounded  up  the 
porch  steps  with  the  idea  of  hammering  on  the 
front-door  panels.  Tilghman  was  a  young  man 
and  the  judge  an  old  one;  it  was  inevitable  the 
judge  should  suffer  the  more  painful  conse 
quences  of  the  sudden  impact  of  their  two 
bodies  together.  He  went  down  sideways  with 
a  great  hard  thump,  his  forehead  striking 
against  a  sharp  corner  of  the  door  jamb.  He 
was  senseless,  and  a  little  stream  of  blood  was 
beginning  to  trickle  down  his  face  as  Tilghman 
dragged  him  down  off  the  porch  into  the  yard 
and  stretched  him  on  his  back  in  the  grass,  and 
then  ran  to  fetch  water. 

In  that  same  minute  the  big  bell  in  the  tower 
of  fire  headquarters,  half  a  mile  away,  began 
sounding  in  measured  beats,  and  a  small  hun 
gry-looking  tongue  of  flame  licked  up  across 
the  sill  and  flickered  for  a  moment  through  the 
smoke  which  was  pouring  forth  out  of  the  bath 
room  window  and  rolling  across  the  flat  top  of 
the  extension.  The  smoke  gushed  out  still 
thicker,  smothering  down  the  red  pennon,  but 
in  a  second  or  two  it  showed  again,  and  this 
time  it  brought  with  it  two  more  like  it.  The 
bathroom  window  became  a  frame  for  a  cloudy 
pink  glare,  and  the  purring  note  of  the  fire  be 
came  a  brisk  and  healthy  crackle  as  it  ate 
through  the  seasoned  clapboards  of  the  outer  wall. 

All  of  a  sudden,  so  it  seemed,  the  yard  and 
the  street  were  full  of  people.  Promptly  there 
"  [155] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

began  to  happen  most  of  the  things  that  do 
happen  at  a  fire.  As  for  instance:  Mr.  Milus 
Miles,  who  arrived  among  the  very  first  and 
who  had  a  commandingly  loud  voice,  mounted 
a  rustic  bench  alongside  the  croquet  ground 
and  called  for  volunteers  to  form  a  bucket  brig 
ade.  That  his  recruits  would  have  no  buckets 
to  pass  after  they  had  enrolled  themselves  for 
service  was  with  Mr.  Miles  a  minor  considera 
tion.  It  was  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  the  fore 
thought,  the  responsibility,  the  aptitude  for 
leadership  in  a  work  of  succour — all  these  in 
spired  him. 

Mr.  Ulysses  Rice,  who  lived  in  the  next 
street,  climbed  the  side  fence — under  the  cir 
cumstances  it  somehow  to  him  seemed  a  more 
resolute  thing  to  scale  the  fence  than  to  enter 
by  the  gate  in  the  regular  way — and  ran  across 
the  yard,  inspired  with  a  neighbourly  and  com 
mendable  desire  to  save  something  right  away. 
He  put  his  toe  in  a  croquet  wicket  and  fell 
headlong.  This  was  to  be  expected  of  Mr.  Rice. 
He  had  a  perfect  genius  for  getting  into  acci 
dents.  All  Nature  was  ever  in  a  conspiracy 
with  all  the  inanimate  objects  in  the  world  to 
do  him  bodily  hurt.  If  he  went  skiff  riding  and 
fell  overboard,  as  he  customarily  did,  it  was 
not  because  he  had  rocked  the  boat.  The  boat 
rocked  itself.  He  was  the  only  man  in  town 
who  had  ever  succeeded  in  gashing  his  throat 
with  a  safety  razor. 

He  now  disentangled  his  foot  from  the  wicket 
[156] 


THE       CURE       FOR       LONESOMENESS 

and  scrambled  up  and,  still  actuated  by  the 
best  motives  imaginable,  he  dashed  toward  the 
back  of  the  Priest  homestead,  being  minded  to 
seek  entrance  by  a  rear  door.  But  a  wire 
clothesline,  swinging  at  exactly  the  right  height 
to  catch  him  just  under  the  nose,  did  catch  him 
just  under  the  nose  and  almost  sawed  the  tip 
of  that  useful  organ  off  Mr.  Rice's  agonised 
face.  Coincidentally,  citizens  of  various  ages 
and  assorted  sizes  ran  into  the  house  and  drag 
ged  out  the  furnishings  of  the  lower  floor,  be 
stowing  their  salvage  right  where  other  citizens 
might  fall  over  it.  Through  all  the  joints  be 
tween  the  shingles  the  roof  of  the  ell  leaked 
smoke,  until  it  resembled  a  sloped  bed  of  slak 
ing  lime.  This  fire  was  rapidly  getting  to  be 
a  regular  fire. 

With  a  great  clattering  the  department  came 
tearing  up  the  street.  Dropping  down  from 
their  perches  on  the  running  boards  of  the  wag 
ons,  certain  of  its  members  began  unreeling 
the  hose,  then  ran  back  with  it  to  couple  it  to 
the  nearest  fire  hydrant,  nearly  two  blocks 
away  down  Clay  Street.  Others  brought  a 
ladder  and  reared  it  against  the  side  of  the 
house,  with  its  uppermost  rounds  projecting 
above  the  low  eaves.  While  many  hands  stead 
ied  the  ladder  in  place,  Captain  Bud  Gorman 
of  Station  No.  1 — there  was  also  a  Station  No. 
2,  but  Bud  skippered  Station  No.  1 — mounted 
it  and,  with  an  axe,  started  chopping  a  hole  in 
the  roof  at  a  point  where  there  seemed  as  yet 
[157] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

to  be  no  immediate  peril.  Under  his  strokes 
the  shingles  flew  in  showers.  It  was  evident 
that  if  the  flames  should  spread  to  this  imme 
diate  area  Captain  Bud  Gorman  would  have  a 
rough  but  practicable  flue  ready  for  their  egress 
into  the  open  air,  against  the  moment  when 
they  had  burst  through  the  ceiling  and  the 
rafters  below. 

More  people  and  yet  more  kept  coming. 
The  rubber  piping,  which  perversely  had  kinked 
and  twisted  as  it  came  off  the  spinning  drum  of 
hose  reel  No.  1,  was  fairly  straight  now,  and 
from  his  station  just  inside  the  gate  the  fire 
chief  bellowed  the  command  down  the  line  to 
turn  'er  on!  They  turned  her  on,  but  some 
where  in  the  coupled  sections  of  hose  a  stricture 
had  developed.  All  that  happened  was  that 
from  the  brass  snout  of  the  nozzle  a  languid 
gush  of  yellow  water  arose  in  a  fan  shape  to  an 
elevation  of  perhaps  fifteen  feet,  thence  de 
scending  in  a  cascade,  not  upon  the  particular 
spot  at  which  the  nozzle  was  aimed,  but  full 
upon  the  ill-starred  Mr.  Rice  as  he  tugged  to 
uproot  a  wooden  support  of  the  little  grape 
arbor  which  flanked  the  house  on  the  endan 
gered  side.  Somewhat  disfigured  by  the  clothes 
line  but  still  resolute  to  lend  a  helping  hand 
somewhere,  Mr.  Rice  had  but  a  moment  be 
fore  become  possessed  of  an  ambition  to  re 
move  the  grape  vines,  trellis  and  all,  to  a  place 
of  safety.  His  reward  for  this  kindly  attempt 
was  a  sudden  soaking. 

[158] 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

As  though  the  hiss  of  the  water  had  aroused 
him,  Judge  Priest  sat  up  in  the  grass,  where  he 
had  been  lying  during  these  tumultuous  and 
crowded  five  minutes.  He  was  still  half  dazed. 
As  his  eyesight  cleared,  he  saw  that  the  bath 
room  was  as  good  as  gone  and  that  his  bed 
room  was  about  to  go.  Some  one  helped  him 
to  his  unsteady  feet  and  kept  him  upright.  He 
shook  himself  free  from  the  supporting  grasp 
of  the  person  who  held  him,  and  advanced  to 
ward  the  porch  steps,  wavering  a  little  on  his 
legs  as  he  went. 

Then,  before  anybody  sensed  what  he  meant 
to  do,  before  anybody  could  make  a  move  to 
stop  him,  he  had  mounted  the  steps  and  was 
at  the  front  door. 

Out  of  the  door,  bumping  into  him,  backed 
a  coughing,  gasping  squad,  their  noses  smart 
ing  and  their  eyes  streaming  from  the  acrid 
reek,  towing  after  them  the  big  horsehair  sofa 
which  was  the  principal  piece  of  furniture  in 
the  judge's  sitting  room.  The  sofa  had  lost 
two  of  its  casters  in  transit,  and  it  took  all 
their  strength  to  drag  it  over  the  lintel. 

"It's  no  use,  Judge  Priest,"  panted  one  of 
these  workers,  recognising  him;  "we've  got 
pretty  nearly  everything  out  that  was  down 
stairs  and  you  couldn't  get  upstairs  now  if  you 
tried." 

Then  seeing  that  the  owner  meant  to  disre 
gard  the  warning,  this  man  threw  out  an  arm 
forcibly  to  detain  the  other.  But  for  all  his 
[159] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

age  and  size,  the  judge  was  wieldy  enough  when 
he  chose  to  be.  With  an  agile  twist  of  his 
body  he  dodged  past,  and  as  the  man,  astound 
ed  and  horrified,  glared  across  the  threshold  he 
saw  Judge  Priest  running  down  the  murky  hall 
and,  with  head  bent  and  his  mouth  and  nose 
buried  in  the  crook  of  one  elbow,  starting  up 
the  stairs  into  the  thickest  and  blackest  of  the 
smoke.  To  this  man's  credit,  be  it  said,  he 
made  a  valiant  effort  to  overtake  the  old  man. 
The  pursuer  darted  in  behind  him,  but  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps  fell  back,  daunted  and  unable 
to  breathe.  He  staggered  out  again  into  the 
open,  gagging  with  the  smoke  that  was  in  his 
throat  and  down  in  his  lungs. 

"He's  gone  in  there!"  he  shouted,  pointing 
behind  him.  "He's  gone  right  in  there!  He's 
gone  upstairs!" 

"Who  is  it?  Who's  gone  in  there?"  twenty 
voices  demanded  together. 

"  The  judge — just  a  second  ago !  I  tried  to  stop 
him — he  got  by  me!  He  ain't  got  a  chance!" 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  words,  a  draught  of 
fire  came  roaring  through  the  crater  in  the  roof 
which  Captain  Bud  Gorman's  axe  had  dug  for 
its  free  passage.  An  outcry — half  gasp,  half 
groan — went  up  from  those  who  knew  what 
had  happened.  They  ran  round  in  rings  wast 
ing  precious  time. 

Sergeant  Jimmy  Bagby,  half  dressed,  trotted 
across  the  lawn.  He  had  just  arrived.  He 

grabbed  young  Ed  Tilghman  by  the  arm. 

[  160  ] 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

"How'd  she  start,  boy?"  demanded  the  ser 
geant.  "Where's  the  judge?  Did  they  git 
everything  out?" 

"Everything  out — hell!"  answered  Tilgh- 
man,  sobbing  in  his  distress.  "The  old  judge 
is  in  there.  He  got  a  lick  on  the  head  and  it 
must  have  made  him  crazy.  He  just  ran  back 
in  there  and  went  upstairs.  He'll  never  make 
it — and  nobody  can  get  him  out.  He'll  smother 
to  death  sure!" 

Down  on  his  knees  dropped  Sergeant  Bagby 
and  shut  his  eyes,  and  for  the  first,  last  and 
only  time  in  his  life  he  prayed  aloud  in 
public. 

"Oh,  Lord,"  he  prayed,  "fur  God's  sake  git 
Billy  Priest  out  of  there!  Oh,  Lord,  that's  all 
I'll  ever  ask  You — fur  God's  sake  git  Billy 
Priest  out  of  there!  Ez  a  favour  to  me,  Lord, 
please,  Suh,  git  Billy  Priest  out  of  there!" 

From  many  throats  at  once  a  yell  arose — a 
yell  so  shrill  and  loud  that  it  overtopped  all 
lesser  sounds;  a  yell  so  loud  that  the  sergeant 
ceased  from  his  praying  to  look.  Through  the 
smoke,  and  over  the  sloping  peak  of  the  roof 
from  the  rear,  came  a  slim,  dark  shape  on  its 
all-fours.  Treading  the  pitch  of  the  gable  as 
swiftly  and  surefootedly  as  a  cat,  it  scuttled 
forward  to  the  front  edge  of  the  housetop, 
swung  downward  at  arms'  length  from  the 
eaves,  and  dropped  on  a  narrow  ledge  of  tin- 
covered  surface  where  the  small  ornamental 
balcony,  which  was  like  a  misplaced  wooden 

[161] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

moustache,  projected  from  the  face  of  the  build 
ing  at  the  level  of  the  second  floor,  then  in 
stantly  dived  headfirst  in  at  that  window  of 
the  judge's  bedchamber  which  was  farthest 
from  the  corner  next  the  bathroom. 

For  a  silent  minute — a  minute  which  seemed 
a  year — those  below  stared  upward,  with  start 
ing  eyes  and  lumps  in  their  throats.  Then,  all 
together,  they  swallowed  their  several  throat 
lumps  and  united  in  an  exultant  joyous  yell, 
which  made  that  other  yell  they  had  uttered  a 
little  before  seem  by  comparison  puny  and 
cheap.  Through  the  smoke  which  bulged  from 
the  balcony  window  and  out  upon  the  balcony 
itself  popped  the  agile  black  figure.  Bracing 
itself,  it  hauled  across  the  window  ledge  a 
bulky  inert  form.  It  wrestled  its  helpless  bur 
den  over  and  eased  it  down  the  flat,  tiny  railed- 
in  perch  just  as  a  fire  ladder,  manned  by  many 
eager  hands,  came  straightening  up  from  below, 
with  Captain  Bud  Gorman  of  Station  No.  1 
climbing  it,  two  rounds  at  a  jump,  before  it 
had  ceased  to  waver  in  the  air. 

Volunteers  swarmed  up  the  ladder  behind 
Bud  Gorman,  forming  a  living  chain  from  the 
earth  to  the  balcony.  First  they  passed  down 
the  judge,  breathing  and  whole  but  uncon 
scious,  with  his  nightshirt  torn  off  his  back 
and  his  bare  right  arm  still  clenched  round  a 
picture  of  some  sort  in  a  heavy  gilt  frame.  His 
grip  on  it  did  not  relax  until  they  had  carried 
him  well  back  from  the  burning  house,  and  for 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

the  second  time  that  night  had  stretched  him 
out  upon  the  grass. 

The  judge  being  safe,  the  men  on  the  ladder 
made  room  for  Jeff  Poindexter  to  descend  under 
his  own  motive  power,  all  of  them  cheering 
mightily.  Just  as  Jeff  reached  solid  ground  the 
stoppage  in  the  hose  unstopped  itself  of  its 
own  accord  and  from  the  brazen  gullet  of  the 
nozzle  there  sprang  up,  like  a  silver  sword,  a 
straight,  hard  stream  of  water  which  lanced 
into  the  heart  of  the  fire,  turning  its  exultant 
song  from  a  crackle  to  a  croon  and  then  to  a 
resentful  hiss. 

In  that  same  instant  Sergeant  Bagby  found 
himself,  for  the  first  time  since  he  escaped  from 
the  kindly  tyranny  of  a  black  mammy — nearly 
sixty  years  before — in  close  and  ardent  em 
brace  with  a  member  of  the  African  race. 

"Jeff,"  clarioned  the  sergeant,  hugging  the 
blistered  rescuer  yet  closer  to  him  and  beating 
him  on  the  back  with  hearty  thumps — "Jeff, 
God  bless  your  black  hide,  how  did  you  come 
to  think  of  it?" 

"Well,  suh,  Mr.  Bagby,"  wheezed  Jeff,  "hit 
wuz  lak  dis:  I  didn't  wake  up  w'en  she  fust 
started.  I  got  so  much  on  my  mind  to  do  day 
times  'at  I  sleeps  mighty  sound  w'en  I  does 
sleep.  Presen'ly,  tho',  I  did  wake  up,  an'  I 
got  my  pants  on,  an'  I  come  runnin'  acrost  de 
lot  frum  de  stable,  an'  I  got  heah  jes'  in  time 
to  hear  'em  all  yellin'  out  dat  de  jedge  is  done 
went  back  into  de  house.  I  sees  there  ain't  no 
[163] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

chanc't  of  goin'  in  after  him  de  way  he's  done 
went,  but  jes'  about  that  time  I  remembers 
dat  air  little  po'ch  up  yonder  on  de  front  of 
de  house  w'ich  it  seem  lak  ever'body  else  had 
done  furgot  all  'bout  hit  bein'  there  a-tall.  So 
I  runs  round  to  de  back  right  quick,  an'  I 
clim'  up  de  lattice-work  by  de  kitchen,  an*  I 
comes  out  along  over  de  roof,  an'  I  drap  down 
on  de  little  po'ch,  an'  after  that,  I  reckin,  you 
seen  de  rest  of  it  fur  you'self,  suh — all  but 
whut  happen  after  I  gits  inside  dat  window." 

"What  did  happen?"  From  the  ring  of  men 
who  hedged  in  the  sergeant  and  Jeff  five  or  six 
asked  the  same  question  at  once.  Before  an 
all-white  audience  Jeff  visibly  expanded  him 
self. 

"W'y,  nothin'  a-tall  happen,"  he  said, 
'  'ceptin'  that  I  found  de  ole  boss-man  right 
where  I  figgered  I'd  find  him — in  his  own  room 
at  de  foot  of  his  baid.  He'd  done  fell  down 
dere  on  de  flo',  right  after  he  grabbed  dat  air 
picture  offen  de  wall.  Yas,  suh,  that's  perzack- 
ly  where  I  finds  him!" 

"But,  Jeff,  how  could  you  breathe  up  there?" 

Still  in  the  sergeant's  cordial  grasp,  Jeff  made 
direct  answer: 

"Gen'l'mens,  I  didn't!  Fur  de  time  bein'  I 
jes'  natchelly  abandoned  breathin'!" 

Again  that  night  Judge  Priest  had  a  dream 
— only  this  time  the  dream  lacked  continuity 
and  sequence  and  was  but  a  jumble  of  things — 
and  he  emerged  from  it  with  his  thoughts  all  in 


THE       CURE        FOR       LONESOMENESS 

confusion.  In  his  first  drowsy  moment  of  con 
sciousness  he  had  a  sensation  of  having  taken 
a  long  journey  along  a  dark  rough  road.  For 
a  little  he  lay  wondering  where  he  was,  piecing 
together  his  impressions  and  trying  to  bridge 
the  intervening  gaps. 

Then  the  light  got  better  and  he  made  out 
the  anxious  face  of  Doctor  Lake  looking  down 
at  him  and,  just  over  Doctor  Lake's  shoulder, 
the  face  of  Sergeant  Bagby.  He  opened  his 
mouth  then  and  spoke. 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  certain  shore,"  said 
the  judge:  "this  ain't  heaven!  Because  ef 
'twas,  there  wouldn't  be  a  chance  of  you  and 
Jimmy  Bagby  bein'  here  with  me." 

Whereupon,  for  no  .apparent  reason  on  earth 
that  Judge  Priest  could  fathom,  Doctor  Lake, 
with  a  huskily  affectionate  intonation,  called 
him  by  many  profane  and  improper  names; 
and  Sergeant  Bagby,  wiping  his  eyes  with  one 
hand,  made  his  other  hand  up  into  a  fist  and 
shook  it  in  Judge  Priest's  face,  meanwhile  emo 
tionally  denouncing  him  as  several  qualified 
varieties  of  an  old  idiot. 

Under  this  treatment  the  fogginess  quit 
Judge  Priest's  brain,  and  he  became  aware  of 
the  presence  of  a  considerable  number  of  per 
sons  about  him,  including  the  two  Edward 
Tilghmans — Senior  and  Junior — and  the  two 
Tilghman  girls;  and  Jeff  Poindexter,  wearing 
about  half  as  many  garments  as  Jeff  customar 
ily  wore,  and  with  a  slightly  blistered  appear- 
[  165  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

ance  as  to  his  face  and  shoulders;  and  Mr. 
Ulysses  Rice,  with  a  badly  skinned  nose  and 
badly  drenched  shoulders;  and  divers  others  of 
his  acquaintances.  Indeed,  he  was  quite  sur 
rounded  by  neighbours  and  friends.  Also  by 
degrees  it  became  apparent  to  him  that  he  was 
stretched  upon  a  strange  bed  in  a  strange  room 
— at  least  he  did  not  recall  ever  having  been  in 
this  room  before — and  that  he  had  a  bandage 
across  the  baldest  part  of  his  head,  and  that 
he  felt  tired  all  over  his  body. 

"Well,  I  got  out,  didn't  I?"  he  inquired  after 
a  minute  or  two. 

"Got  out — thunder!"  vociferated  the  ser 
geant  with  what  the  judge  regarded  as  a  most 
unnecessary  violence  of  voice  and  manner.  "Ef 
this  here  black  boy  of  yourn  hadn't  a-risked  his 
own  life,  climbin'  down  over  the  roof  and  goin' 
in  through  a  front  window  and  draggin'  you 
out  of  that  fire — the  same  ez  ef  you  was  a  sack 
of  shorts — you'd  a-been  a  goner,  shore.  Ain't 
you  'shamed  of  yourself,  scarin'  everybody  half 
to  death  that-a-way?" 

"Oh,  it  was  Jeff,  was  it?"  said  the  old  judge, 
disregarding  Sergeant  Bagby's  indignant  inter 
rogation.  He  looked  steadfastly  at  his  grinning 
servitor  and,  when  he  spoke  again,  there  was  a 
different  intonation  in  his  voice. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Jeff."  That  was  all 
he  said.  It  was  the  way  he  said  it. 

"You  is  more'n  welcome,  thanky,  suh,"  an 
swered  Jeff;  "it  warn't  scursely  no  trouble 
[166] 


THE       CURE       FOR       LONESOMENESS 

a-tall,  suh — 'cep'in'  dem  ole  shingles  on  dat 
roof  suttin'y  wuz  warm  to  de  te'ch." 

"Did — did  Jeff  succeed  in  savin'  anything 
else  besides  me?"  The  judge  put  the  question 
as  though  hah*  fearing  what  the  answer  might 
be. 

"Ef  you  mean  this — why,  here  'tis,  safe  and 
sound,"  said  Sergeant  Bagby,  and  he  moved 
aside  so  that  Judge  Priest  might  see,  leaning 
against  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  a  certain 
crayon  portrait.  "The  glass  ain't  cracked  even 
and  the  frame  ain't  dented.  You  three  come 
out  of  there  practically  together — Jeff  a-hang- 
in'  onto  you  and  you  a-hangin'  onto  your  pic 
ture.  So  if  that's  whut  you  went  chargin'  back 
in  there  fur,  I  hope  you're  satisfied!" 

"I'm  satisfied,"  said  the  judge  softly.  Then 
after  a  bit  he  cleared  his  throat  and  ventured 
another  query: 

"That  old  house  of  mine — I  s'pose  she's  all 
burnt  up  by  now?" 

"Don't  you  ever  believe  it,"  said  the  ser 
geant.  "That  there  house  of  yourn  'pears  to 
be  purty  nigh  ez  contrary  and  set  in  its  ways 
ez  whut  you  are.  It  won't  burn  up,  no  matter 
how  good  a  chance  you  give  it.  Jest  about  the 
time  Jeff  here  drug  you  out  on  that  little  bal 
cony  outside  your  window,  the  water  works 
begun  to  work,  and  after  that  they  had  her 
under  control  in  less'n  no  time.  She  must  be 
about  out  by  now." 

"Your  bathroom's  a  total  loss  and  the  ex- 
[167] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

tension  on  that  side  is  pretty  badly  scorched 
up,  but  the  rest  of  the  place,  excusing  damage 
by  the  water  and  the  smoke,  is  hardly  dam 
aged,"  added  the  younger  Tilghman.  "You'll 
be  able  to  move  back  in,  inside  of  a  month, 
judge." 

"And  in  the  meantime  you're  going  to  stay 
right  here,  Judge  Priest,  and  make  my  house 
your  home,"  announced  Mr.  Tilghman,  Senior. 
"It's  mighty  plain,  but  such  as  it  is  you're  wel 
come  to  it,  judge.  We'll  do  our  level  best  to 
make  you  comfortable.  Only  I'm  afraid  you'll 
miss  the  things  you've  been  used  to  having 
round  you." 

"Oh,  I  reckin  not,"  said  Judge  Priest.  His 
glance  travelled  slowly  from  the  crayon  por 
trait  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  to  Jeff  Poindexter's 
chocolate-coloured  face  and  back  again  to  the 
portrait.  "I've  got  mighty  near  everything  I 
need  to  make  me  happy." 

"What  I  meant  was  that  maybe  you'd  be 
kind  of  lonesome  away  from  your  own  house," 
Mr.  Tilghman  said. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  so,"  answered  the  old 
man,  smiling  a  little.  "You  see,  I  taken  the 
cure  for  lonesomeness  to-night.  You  mout  call 
it  the  smoke  cure." 


168] 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE    FAMILY    TREE     \ 


THE  family  tree  of  the  Van  Nicht  family 
was  not  the  sort  of  family  tree  you 
think  I  mean,  although  they  had  one 
of  that  variety  too.     This  was  a  real 
tree.    It  was  an  elm — the  biggest  elm  and  the 
broadest  and  the  most  majestic  elm  in  the  en 
tire  state,  and  in  the  times  of  its  leafage  cast 
the  densest  shade  of  any  elm  to  be  found  any 
where,  probably.    For  more  than  one  hundred 
years  the  Van  Nicht  family  had  lived  in  its 
shadow.     That  was  the  principal  trouble  with 
them — they  did  live  in  the  shadow.     I'll  come 
to  that  later. 

Every  consequential  visitor  to  Schuylerville 
was  taken  to  see  the  Van  Nicht  elm.  It  was  a 
necessary  detail  of  his  tour  about  town.  Either 
before  or  after  he  had  viewed  the  new  ten- 
story  skyscraper  of  the  Seaboard  National 
Bank,  and  the  site  for  the  projected  Civic  Cen 
tre,  and  the  monument  to  Schuyler  County's 
defenders  of  the  Union  —  1861  -  '65  —  with  a 
dropsical  bronze  figure  of  a  booted  and  whis- 
[169] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

kered  infantryman  on  top  of  the  tall  column, 
and  the  Henrietta  Wing  Memorial  Library,  and 
the  rest  of  it,  they  took  him  and  they  showed 
him  the  Van  Nicht  elm.  So  doing,  it  was  in 
cumbent  upon  them  to  escort  him  through  a 
street  which  was  beginning  to  wear  that  vacil 
lating,  uncertain  look  any  street  wears  while 
trying  to  make  up  its  mind  whether  to  keep  on 
being  a  quiet  residential  byway  in  an  old-fash 
ioned  town  or  to  turn  itself  into  an  important 
thoroughfare  of  a  thriving  industrial  centre. 
You  know  the  kind  of  street  I  aim  to  picture — 
with  here  an  impudent  young  garage  showing 
its  shining  morning  face  of  red  brick  in  a  side 
yard  where  there  used  to  be  an  orchard,  and 
there  a  new  apartment  building  which  has 
shouldered  its  way  into  a  line  of  ancient  dwell 
ings  and  is  driving  its  cast-iron  cornices,  like 
rude  elbows,  into  the  clapboarded  short  ribs  of 
its  neighbours  upon  either  side. 

At  the  far,  upper  end  of  that  street,  upon 
the  poll  of  a  gentle  eminence,  uplifted  the  Van 
Nicht  elm.  It  was  for  sundry  months  of  the 
year  a  splendid  vast  umbrella,  green  in  the 
spring  and  summer  and  yellow  in  the  fall;  and 
in  the  winter  presented  itself  against  the  sky 
line  as  a  great  skeleton  shape,  without  a  blem 
ish  upon  it,  except  for  a  scar  in  the  bark  close 
down  to  the  earth  to  show  where  once  there 
might  have  been  a  fissure  in  its  mighty  bole. 
No  grass,  or  at  least  mighty  little  grass,  grew 
within  the  circle  of  its  brandishing  limbs.  It 
[170] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

was  as  though  the  roots  of  the  tree  sucked  up 
all  the  nourishment  that  the  soil  might  hold, 
lea ving  none  for  the  humble  grass  to  thrive  upon. 

It  was  in  the  winter  that  the  house,  which 
stood  almost  directly  under  the  tree,  was  most 
clearly  revealed  as  a  square,  ugly  domicile  of 
grey  stone,  a  story  and  a  half  in  height,  lidded 
over  by  a  hip  roof  of  weathered  shingles;  with 
a  deeply  recessed  front  door,  like  a  pursed  and 
proper  mouth,  and,  above  it,  a  row  of  queer 
little  longitudinal  windows,  half  hidden  below 
the  overhang  of  the  gables  and  suggesting  so 
many  slitted  eyes  peering  out  from  beneath  a 
lowering  brow.  You  saw,  too,  the  mould  that 
had  formed  in  streaky  splotches  upon  the  stone 
work  of  the  walls  and  the  green  rime  of  age  and 
dampness  that  had  overspread  the  curled  shin 
gles  and  the  peeling  paint,  turning  to  minute 
scales  upon  the  woodwork  of  the  window  cas 
ings  and  the  door  frames.  Also  you  saw  one 
great  crooked  bough  which  stretched  across  the 
roof  like  a  menacing  black  arm,  forever  threat 
ening  to  descend  and  crush  its  rafters  in.  This 
was  in  winter;  in  summertime  the  leaves  al 
most  completely  hid  the  house,  so  that  one 
who  halted  outside  the  decrepit  fence,  with  its 
snaggled  and  broken  panels,  must  needs  stoop 
low  to  perceive  its  outlines  at  all. 

The  carriage  or  the  automobile  bearing  the 
prominent  guest  and  the  chairman  of  the  local 
reception  committee  would  halt  at  the  end  of 

the  street. 

[171] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"That,"  the  chairman  would  say,  pointing 
up  grade,  "is  the  Van  Nicht  elm.  Possibly 
you've  heard  about  it?  Round  here  we  call  it 
the  Van  Nicht  family  tree.  It  is  said  to  be  the 
largest  elm  in  this  part  of  the  country.  In  fact,  I 
doubt  whether  there  are  any  larger  than  this  one, 
even  up  in  New  England.  And  that's  the  famous 
old  Van  Nicht  homestead  there,  just  back  of  it. 

"Its  got  a  history.  When  Colonel  Cecilius 
Jacob  Van  Nicht  came  here  right  after  the 
Revolutionary  War — he  was  a  colonel  in  the 
Revolution,  you  know — he  built  the  house, 
placing  it  just  behind  the  tree.  The  tree 
must've  grown  considerably  since  then,  but  the 
house  yonder  hasn't  changed  but  mighty  little 
all  these  years.  It's  the  oldest  building  in 
Schuyler  County.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
town,  with  this  house  for  a  starter,  sort  of 
grew  up  down  here  on  the  flat  lands  below. 
The  old  colonel  raised  a  family  here  and  died 
here.  So  did  his  son  and  his  grandson.  They 
were  rich  people  once — the  richest  people  in 
the  county  at  one  time. 

"Why  all  the  land  from  here  clear  down  to 
Ossibaw  Street — that's  six  blocks  south — used 
to  be  included  in  the  Van  Nicht  estate.  It  was 
a  farm  then,  of  course,  and  by  all  accounts  a 
fine  one.  But  each  generation  sold  off  some  of 
the  original  grant,  until  all  that's  left  now  is 
that  house,  with  the  tree  and  about  an  acre  of 
ground  more  or  less.  And  I  guess  it's  pretty 

well  covered  with  mortgages." 

[172] 


THE      FAMILY     TREE 


This,  in  substance,  was  what  the  guide  would 
tell  the  distinguished  stranger.  This,  in  sub 
stance,  was  what  was  told  to  young  Olcott  on 
the  day  after  he  arrived  in  Schuylerville  to  take 
over  the  editorial  management  of  the  Schuyler 
ville  News-Ledger.  Mayor  T.  J.  McGlynn  was 
showing  him  the  principal  points  of  interest — 
so  the  mayor  had  put  it,  when  he  called^  that 
morning  with  his  own  car  at  the  Hotel  Brain- 
ard,  where  Olcott  was  stopping,  and  invited 
the  young  man  to  go  for  a  tour  of  inspection  of 
the  city,  as  a  sort  of  introductory  and  prepara 
tory  course  in  local  education  prior  to  his  as 
suming  his  new  duties. 

While  the  worthy  mayor  was  uttering  his 
descriptive  remarks  Olcott  bent  his  head  and 
squinted  past  the  thick  shield  of  limbs  and 
leaves.  He  saw  that  the  door  of  the  house, 
which  was  closed,  somehow  had  the  look  of 
about  always  being  closed,  and  that  most  of 
the  windows  were  barred  with  thick  shutters. 

"Appears  rather  deserted,  doesn't  it?"  said 
the  newcomer,  striving  to  show  a  proper  ap 
preciation  of  the  courtesy  that  was  being  visited 
upon  him.  "There  isn't  any  one  living  there 
at  present,  is  there?" 

"  Sure  there  is,"  said  Mayor  McGlynn.  "  Old 
Mr.  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht,  4th,  who's  the 
present  head  of  the  family,  and  his  two  old- 
maid  sisters,  Miss  Rachael  and  Miss  Harriet— 
they  all  live  there  together.  Miss  Rachael  is 
considerably  older  than  Miss  Harriet,  but 
[173] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

they're  both  regular  old  maids — guess  they  al 
ways  will  be.  The  brother  never  married, 
either — couldn't  find  anybody  good  enough  to 
share  the  name,  I  suppose.  Anyhow  he's  never 
married.  And  besides  I  guess  it  keeps  him 
pretty  busy  living  up  to  the  job  of  being  the 
head  of  the  oldest  family  in  this  end  of  the 
state.  That's  about  all  he  ever  has  done." 

"Then  he  isn't  in  any  regular  business  or 
any  profession?" 

"Business!"  Mayor  McGlynn  snorted.  "I 
should  say  not!  All  any  one  of  the  Van  Nichts 
has  ever  done  since  anybody  can  remember 
was  just  to  keep  on  being  a  Van  Nicht  and  up 
holding  the  traditions  and  the  honours  of  the 
Van  Nichts — and  this  one  is  like  all  his  breed. 
The  poorer  he  gets  the  more  pompous  and  the 
more  important  acting  he  gets — that's  the 
funny  part  of  it." 

"Apparently  not  a  very  lucrative  calling, 
judging  by  the  general  aspect  of  the  ancestral 
manor,"  said  Olcott,  who  was  beginning  now  to 
be  interested.  "How  do  they  manage  to  live?" 

"Lord  knows,"  said  the  mayor.  "How  do 
the  sparrows  manage  to  live?  I  guess  there're 
times  when  they  need  a  load  of  coal  and  a 
market  basket  full  of  victuals  to  help  tide  'em 
over  a  hard  spell,  but  naturally  nobody  would 
dare  to  offer  to  help  them.  They're  proud  as 
Lucifer  themselves,  and  the  town  is  kind  of 
proud  of  'em.  They're  institutions  with  us,  as 
you  might  say." 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


McGlynn,  who,  as  Olcott  was  to  learn  later, 
was  a  product  of  new  industrial  and  new  po 
litical  conditions  in  the  community,  spoke  with 
the  half-begrudged  admiration  which  the  self- 
made  so  often  have  for  the  ancestor-made. 

"We  ain't  got  so  very  many  of  the  real  aris 
tocrats  in  this  section  any  more,  what  with  all 
this  new  blood  pouring  in  since  our  boom  start 
ed  up;  and  even  if  they  are  as  poor  as  Job's 
turkey,  these  Van  Nichts  still  count  for  a  good 
deal  round  here.  Money  ain't  everything  any 
way,  is  it?  ...  Well,  Mr.  Olcott,  if  you've 
seen  enough  here,  we'll  turn  round  and  go  see 
something  else."  He  addressed  his  chauffeur: 
"Jim,  suppose  you  take  us  by  the  new  hosiery 
mills  next.  I  want  Mr.  Olcott  to  see  one  of 
the  most  prosperous  manufacturing  plants  in 
the  state.  Employs  nine  hundred  hands,  Mr. 
Olcott,  and  hasn't  been  in  operation  but  a  lit 
tle  more  than  three  years.  That's  the  way  this 
town  is  humping  itself.  You  didn't  make  any 
mistake,  coming  here." 

As  the  car  swung  about,  Olcott  gave  the 
Van  Nicht  place  a  backward  scrutiny  over  his 
shoulder  and  was  impressed  by  its  appearance 
into  saying  this: 

"It  strikes. me  as  having  a  mighty  unhealthy 
air  about  it.  I'd  say  offhand  it  was  a  first-rate 
breeding  spot  for  malaria  and  rheumatism.  I 
wonder  why  they  don't  trim  up  that  big  old 
tree  and  give  the  sunshine  and  the  light  a 

chance  to  get  in  under  it." 

[175J 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"For  heaven's  sake  and  your  own,  don't 
you  suggest  that  to  the  old  boy  when  you 
meet  him,"  said  McGlynn  with  a  grin.  "He'd 
as  soon  think  of  cutting  off  his  own  leg  as  to 
touch  a  leaf  on  the  family  tree.  It's  sacred  to 
him.  It  represents  all  the  glory  of  his  breed 
and  he  venerates  it,  the  same  as  some  people 
venerate  an  altar  in  a  church." 

"Then  you  think  I  will  be  likely  to  meet 
him?  I'd  like  to — from  what  you  tell  me,  he 
must  be  rather  a  unique  personality." 

"Yes,  he's  all  of  that — unique,  I  mean.  And 
you're  pretty  sure  to  meet  him  before  you've 
been  in  town  many  months.  He  seems  to  re 
gard  it  as  his  duty  to  call  on  certain  people, 
after  they've  been  here  a  given  length  of  time, 
and  extend  to  them  the  freedom  of  the  town 
that  his  illustrious  great-granddaddy  founded. 
If  you're  specially  lucky — or  specially  unlucky 
—he  may  even  invite  you  to  call  on  him,  al 
though  that's  an  honour  that  doesn't  come  to 
very  many,  even  among  the  older  residents. 
The  Van  Nichts  are  mighty  exclusive  and  it 
isn't  often  that  anybody  sees  what  the  inside 
of  their  house  looks  like — let  alone  a  stranger. 
.  .  .  Say,  Jim,  after  we've  seen  the  hosiery 
mills,  run  us  on  out  past  the  County  Feeble- 
Minded  and  Insane  Asylum.  Mr.  Olcott  will 
enjoy  that!" 

Within  a  month's  time  from  this  time,  Mayor 
McGlynn's  prophecy  was  to  come  true.  On  a 
morning  in  the  early  part  of  the  summer  Ol- 
[176] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


cott  sat  behind  his  desk  in  his  office  adjoining 
the  city  room  on  the  second  floor  of  the  News- 
Ledger  building,  when  his  office  boy  announced 
a  gentleman  calling  to  see  Mr.  Olcott  personally. 

"See  who  it  is,  will  you,  please,  Morgan?" 
said  Olcott  to  his  assistant.  Morgan  had  ar 
rived  less  than  a  week  before,  having  been  sent 
on  by  the  syndicate  which  owned  a  chain  of 
papers,  the  News-Ledger  included,  to  serve 
under  the  new  managing  editor.  The  syndicate 
had  a  cheery  little  way  of  shuffling  the  cards 
at  frequent  intervals  and  dealing  out  fresh  exec 
utives  for  the  six  or  eight  dailies  under  its 
control  and  ownership. 

"I'm  busy  as  the  dickens,"  added  Olcott  as 
Morgan  got  up  to  obey;  "so  if  it's  a  pest  that's 
outside,  give  him  the  soft  answer  and  steer  him 
off!" 

In  a  minute  Morgan  was  back  with  a  cryptic 
grin  on  his  face. 

"You'd  better  see  him — he's  worth  seeing, 
all  right,"  said  Morgan. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Olcott. 

"It's  somebody  right  out  of  a  book,"  an 
swered  Morgan;  "somebody  giving  the  name 
of  Something  Something  Van  Nicht.  I  didn't 
catch  all  the  first  name — I  was  too  busy  sizing 
up  its  proprietor.  Says  he  must  see  you  pri 
vately  and  in  person.  I  gather  from  his  man 
ner  that  if  you  don't  see  him  this  paper  will 
never  be  quite  the  same  again.  And  honestly, 

Qlcott,  he's  worth  seeing." 

[  177  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"I  think  I  know  who  it  is,"  said  Olcott, 
"and  I'll  see  him.  Boy,  show  the  gentleman 
in!" 

"I'll  go  myself,"  said  Morgan.  "This  is  a 
thing  that  ought  to  be  done  in  style." 

Olcott  reared  back  in  his  chair,  waiting. 
The  door  opened  and  Morgan's  voice  was 
heard  making  formal  and  sonorous  announce 
ment:  "Mr.  Van  Nicht."  And  Olcott,  look 
ing  over  his  desk  top,  saw,  framed  in  the  door 
way,  a  figure  at  once  picturesque  and  pitiable. 

The  first  thing,  almost,  to  catch  his  eye  was 
a  broad  black  stock  collar — the  first  stock  col 
lar  Olcott  had  ever  seen  worn  by  a  man  in 
daytime.  Above  it  was  a  long,  close-shaven, 
old  face,  with  a  bloodless  and  unwholesome 
pallor  to  it,  framed  in  long,  white  hair,  and  sur 
mounted  by  a  broad-brimmed,  tall-crowned  soft 
hat  which  had  once  been  black  and  now  was 
gangrenous  with  age.  Below  it  a  pair  of  sloping 
shoulders  merging  into  a  thin,  meagre  body 
tightly  cased  in  a  rusty  frock  coat,  and  below 
the  coat  skirts  in  turn  a  pair  of  amazingly  thin 
and  rickety  legs,  ending  in  slender,  well-polish 
ed  boots  with  high  heels.  In  an  instantaneous 
appraisal  of  the  queer  figure  Olcott  compre 
hended  these  details  and,  in  that  same  flicker 
of  time,  noted  that  the  triangle  of  limp  linen 
showing  in  the  V  of  the  close-buttoned  lapels 
had  a  fragile,  yellowish  look  like  old  ivory, 
that  all  the  outer  garments  were  threadbare 
and  shiny  in  the  seams,  and  that  the  stock  col- 
[178] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


lar  was  decayed  to  a  greenish  tinge  along  its 
edges.  Although  the  weather  was  warm,  the 
stranger  wore  a  pair  of  grey  cotton  gloves. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Olcott,  mechanically 
putting  a  ceremonious  and  formal  emphasis 
into  the  words  and  getting  on  his  feet. 

"Good  morning,  sir,  to  you,"  returned  the 
visitor  in  a  voice  of  surprising  volume,  con 
sidering  that  it  issued  from  so  slight  a  frame. 
"You  are  Mr.  Olcott?" 

"Yes,  that's  my  name."  And  Olcott  took  a 
step  forward,  extending  his  hand. 

"Mine,  sir,  is  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht, 
4th."  The  speaker  paused  midway  of  the  floor 
to  remove  one  glove  and  to  shift  it  and  his  cane 
to  the  left  hand.  Advancing,  with  a  slight 
limp,  he  gave  to  Olcott  a  set  of  fingers  that 
were  dry  and  chilly  and  fleshless.  Almost  it 
was  like  clasping  the  articulated  bones  of  a 
skeleton's  hand. 

"I  have  come  personally,  sir,  to  pay  my  re 
spects  and,  as  one  representing  the — ah — the 
old  regime  of  our  people,  to  bid  you  welcome 
to  our  midst." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Olcott,  a  bit 
amused  inwardly,  and  a  bit  impressed  also  by 
the  air  of  mouldy  grandeur  which  the  other 
diffused.  "Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Van 
Nicht?" 

"I  shall  be  able  to  tarry  but  a  short  while." 
The  big  voice  boomed  out  of  the  little  dried- 
tip  body  as  the  old  man  took  the  chair  which 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Olcott  had  indicated.  He  took  only  part  of 
it.  He  poised  himself  on  the  forward  edge  of 
its  seat,  holding  his  spine  very  erect  and  dra 
matising  his  posture  with  a  stiff  and  stately 
investure. 

Olcott  caught  himself  telling  himself  Morgan 
had  been  right:  This  personage  was  not  really 
flesh  and  blood,  but  something  out  of  a  book — 
an  embodied  bit  of  fiction.  Why  even  his  lan 
guage  had  the  stilted  shaping  of  the  characters 
in  most  of  these  old-timey  classical  novels. 

"He  wasn't  really  born  at  all,"  Olcott 
thought.  "Dickens  wrote  him  and  then  Cruik- 
shank  drew  him  and  now  here  he  is,  miracu 
lously  preserved  to  posterity.  But  Charlotte 
Bronte  endowed  him  with  his  conversation." 
What  Olcott  said — aloud — was  something  fatu 
ous  and  commonplace  touching  on  the  state  of 
the  weather. 

"I  have  yet  other  motives  in  presenting  my 
self  to-day,  in  this,  your  sanctum,"  stated  Mr. 
Van  Nicht.  "First  of  all,  I  wish  to  congratu 
late  you  upon  what  to  me  appears  to  be  a  very 
gratifying  stroke  of  journalistic  enterprise  which 
has  come  to  light  in  the  columns  of  your  valued 
organ  since  your  advent  into  the  community 
and  for  which,  therefore,  I  assume  you  are  re 
sponsible." 

"Well,"  said  Olcott,  "we  try  to  get  out  a 
reasonably  live  sheet." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Van  Nicht,  "but  I 
do  not  refer  to  the  aspect  of  your  news  columns. 
[180] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

I  am  speaking  with  reference  to  a  feature  lately 
appearing  in  your  Sunday  edition,  in  what  I 
believe  is  known  as  your  magazine  section.  I 
have  observed  that,  beginning  two  weeks  ago, 
you  inaugurated  a  department  devoted  to  the 
genealogies  of  divers  of  our  older  and  more  dis 
tinguished  American  families.  As  I  recall,  the 
subjects  of  your  first  two  articles  were  the 
Adams  family,  of  Massachusetts,  and  the  Lee 
family,  of  Virginia.  It  may  interest  you  to 
know,  sir — I  trust  indeed  that  it  may  please 
you  to  know — that  I,  personally,  am  most 
highly  pleased  that  you  should  seek  to  incul 
cate  in  the  minds  of  our  people,  through  the 
medium  of  your  columns,  a  knowledge  of  those 
strains  of  blood  to  which  our  nation  is  particu 
larly  indebted  for  much  of  its  culture,  much  of 
its  social  development,  many  of  its  gentler  and 
more  graceful  influences.  It  is  a  most  worthy 
movement  indeed,  a  most  commendable  under 
taking.  I  repeat,  sir,  that  I  congratulate  you 
upon  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Olcott.  "This  coming 
Sunday  we  are  going  to  run  a  yarn  about  the 
Gordon  family,  of  Georgia,  and  after  that  I 
believe  come  the  Clays,  of  Kentucky." 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Van  Nicht. 
"The  names  you  have  mentioned  are  names 
that  are  permanently  embalmed  in  the  written 
annals  of  our  national  life.  But  may  I  ask,  sir, 
whether  you  have  taken  any  steps  as  yet  to  in- 
corporate  into  your  series  an  epitome  of  the 

[181] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

achievements  of  the  family  of  which  I  have  the 
honour  to  be  the  head — the  Van  Nicht  family?  " 

"Well,  you  see,"  explained  Olcott  apologetic 
ally,  "these  articles  are  not  written  here  in  the 
office.  They  are  sent  to  us  in  proof  sheets  as 
a  part  of  our  regular  feature  service,  and  we  run 
'em  just  as  they  come  to  us.  Probably — prob 
ably" — he  hesitated  a  moment  over  the  job  of 
phrasing  tactfully  his  white  lie — "probably  a 
story  on  your  family  genealogy  will  be  coming 
along  pretty  soon." 

"Doubtlessly  so,  doubtlessly  so."  The  as 
sent  was  guilelessly  emphatic.  "In  any  such 
symposium,  in  any  such  compendium,  my  fam 
ily,  beyond  peradventure,  will  have  its  proper 
place  in  due  season.  Nevertheless,  foreseeing 
that  in  the  hands  of  a  stranger  the  facts  and 
the  dates  might  unintentionally  be  confused  or 
wrongly  set  down,  I  have  taken  upon  myself 
the^  obligation  of  preparing  an  accurate  ac 
count  of  the  life  and  work  of  my  illustrious, 
heroic  and  noble  ancestor,  Colonel  Cecilius  Ja 
cob  Van  Nicht,  together  with  a  more  or  less 
elaborate  r£sum6  of  the  lives  of  his  descendants 
up  to  and  including  the  present  generation. 
This  article  is  now  completed.  In  fact  I  have 
it  upon  my  person."  Carefully  he  undid  the 
top  button  of  his  coat  and  reached  for  an  inner 
breast  pocket.  "I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  ac 
cord  you  my  full  permission  for  its  insertion  in 
an  early  issue  of  your  publication."  He  spoke 
with  the  air  of  one  bestowing  a  gift  of  great  value. 
[182] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


Olcott's  practised  eye  appraised  the  probable 
length  of  the  manuscript  which  this  volunteer 
contributor  was  hauling  forth  from  his  bosom 
and,  inside  himself,  Olcott  groaned.  There  ap 
peared  to  be  a  considerable  number  of  sheets 
of  foolscap,  all  closely  written  over  in  a  fine, 
close  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Van  Nicht,  thank  you  very 
much,"  said  Olcott,  searching  his  soul  for  ex 
cuses.  "But  I'm  afraid  we  aren't  able  to  pay 
much  for  this  sort  of  matter.  What  I  mean  to 
say  is  we  are  not  in  a  position  to  invest  very 
heavily  in  outside  offerings.  Er — you  see  most 
of  our  specials — in  fact  practically  all  of  them 
except  those  written  here  in  the  office  by  the 
staff — come  to  us  as  part  of  a  regular  syndicate 
arrangement." 

Here  Mr.  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht,  4th,  at 
tained  the  physically  impossible.  He  erected 
his  spine  straighter  than  before  and  stiffened 
his  body  a  mite  stiffer  than  it  had  been. 

"Pray  do  not  misunderstand  me,  sir,"  he 
stated  solemnly.  "I  crave  no  honorarium  for 
this  work.  I  expect  none.  I  have  considered  it 
a  duty  incumbent  upon  me  to  prepare  it,  and  I 
regard  it  as  a  pleasure  to  tender  it  to  you, 
gratis." 

"But— I'd  like  to  be  able  to  offer  a  little 
something  anyway " 

"One  moment,  if  you  please!  Kindly  hear 
me  out !  With  me,  sir,  this  has  been  a  labour  of 
love.  Moreover,  I  should  look  upon  it  as  an 
[183] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

impropriety  to  accept  remuneration  for  such 
work.  To  me  it  would  savour  of  the  mercen 
ary — would  be  as  though  I  sought  to  capitalise 
into  dollars  and  cents  the  reputation  of  my  own 
people  and  my  own  stock.  I  trust  you  get  my 
viewpoint?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed" — Olcott  was  slightly  flus 
tered — "very  creditable  of  you,  I'm  sure.  Er 
— is  it  very  long?" 

"No  longer  than  a  proper  appreciation  of 
the  topic  demands."  The  old  gentleman  spoke 
with  firmness.  "Also  you  may  rely  absolutely 
upon  the  trustworthiness  and  the  accuracy  of 
all  the  facts,  as  herein  recited.  I  had  access 
to  the  papers  left  by  my  own  revered  grand 
father,  Judge  Cecilius  Van  Nicht,  2d,  son  and 
namesake  of  the  founder  of  our  line,  locally.  I 
may  tell  you,  too,  that  in  preparing  this  com 
pilation  I  was  assisted  by  my  sister,  Miss 
Rachael  Van  Nicht,  a  lady  of  wide  reading  and 
no  small  degree  of  intellectual  attainment,  al 
though  leading  a  life  much  aloof  from  the  world 
— in  fact,  almost  a  cloistered  life." 

He  arose,  opened  out  the  sheaf  of  folded 
sheets,  pressed  them  flat  with  a  caressing  hand 
and  laid  them  down  in  front  of  Olcott.  He 
spoke  now  with  authority,  almost  in  the  tone 
of  a  superior  giving  instructions  regarding  a 
delicate  matter  to  an  underling: 

"I  feel  warranted  in  the  assumption  that 
you  will  not  find  it  necessary  to  alter  or  cur- 
tail  my  statements  in  any  particular.  I  have 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

had  some  previous  experience  in  literary  en 
deavours.  In  all  modesty  I  may  say  that  I  am 
no  novice.  A  signed  article  from  my  pen,  en 
titled  The  Influence  of  the  Holland  -  Dutch 
Strain  Upon  American  Public  Life,  From  Peter 
Stuyvesant  to  Theodore  Roosevelt,  was  pub 
lished  some  years  since  in  the  New  York  Even 
ing  Post,  afterward  becoming  the  subject  of 
editorial  comment  in  the  Springfield  Republi 
can,  the  Hartford  Courant  and  the  Boston 
Transcript.  At  present  I  am  engaged  in  a  brief 
history  of  one  of  our  earlier  presidents,  the 
Honourable  Martin  Van  Buren.  I  have  the 
honour  to  bid  you  a  very  good  day,  sir." 

Olcott  ran  the  story  in  his  next  Sunday  issue 
but  one.  It  stretched  the  full  length  of  two 
columns  and  invaded  a  third.  It  was  tiresome 
and  long-winded.  It  was  as  prosy  as  prosy 
could  be.  To  make  room  for  it  a  smartly  done 
special  on  the  commercial  awakening  of  Schuy- 
ler  County  was  crowded  out.  Olcott 's  judg 
ment  told  him  he  did  a  sinful  thing,  but  he 
ran  it.  He  went  further  than  that.  Into  the 
editorial  page  he  slipped  a  paragraph  directing 
attention  to  "Mr.  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht's 
timely  and  interesting  article,  appearing  else 
where  in  this  number." 

He  had  his  reward,  though,  in  the  com 
ments  of  sundry  ones  of  his  local  subscribers. 
From  these  comments,  made  to  him  by  letter 
and  by  word  of  mouth,  he  sensed  something  of 
[185] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

the  attitude  of  the  community  toward  the  Van 
Nicht  family.  As  he  figured,  this  sentiment 
was  a  compound  of  several  things.  It  appeared 
to  embody  a  gentle  intolerance  for  the  shell  of 
social  exclusiveness  in  which  the  present  bear 
ers  of  the  name  had  walled  themselves  up,  to 
gether  with  a  sympathy  for  their  poverty  and 
their  self-imposed  state  of  lonely  and  neglected 
aloofness,  and  still  further  down,  underlying 
these  emotions  and  tincturing  them,  an  under 
standing  and  an  admiration  for  the  importance 
of  this  old  family  as  an  old  family — an  admira 
tion  which  was  genuine  and  avowed  on  the  part 
of  some,  and  just  as  genuine  but  more  or  less 
reluctantly  bestowed  on  the  part  of  others.  It 
was  as  Mayor  McGlynn  had  informed  Olcott 
on  their  first  meeting.  The  Van  Nichts  were 
not  so  much  individuals,  having  a  share  in  the 
life  of  this  thriving,  striving,  overgrown  town, 
as  they  were  historical  fixtures  and  traditional 
assets.  Collectively,  they  constituted  some 
thing  to  be  proud  of  and  sorry  for. 

Soon,  too,  he  had  further  reward.  One  after 
noon  a  small  and  grimy  boy  invaded  his  room, 
without  knocking,  and  laid  a  note  upon  his 
desk. 

"Old  guy  downstairs,  with  long  hair  and  a 
gimpy  leg,  handed  me  this  yere  and  gimme  fi' 
cents  to  fetch  it  up  here  to  you,"  stated  the 
messenger. 

The  note  was  from  Mr.   Van  Nicht,   as  a 

glance  at  the  superscription  told  Olcott  before 

[186]      - 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

he  opened  the  envelope.  In  formal  terms  Ol- 
cott  was  thanked  for  giving  the  writer's  offer 
ing  such  prominence  in  the  pages  of  his  valu 
able  paper  and  was  invited,  formally,  to  call 
upon  the  undersigned  at  his  place  of  residence, 
in  order  that  undersigned  might  more  fully  ex 
press  to  Mr.  Olcott  his  sincere  appreciation. 

On  the  whole,  Olcott  was  glad  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  view  the  inside  of  that  gloomy  old 
house  under  the  big  tree  out  at  the  end  of  Put 
nam  Street.  He  wanted  to  see  more  of  Mr. 
Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht,  and  to  see  something 
of  the  other  two  dwellers  beneath  that  ancient 
roof.  Olcott  had  dreams  of  some  day  writing  a 
novel;  some  day  when  he  had  the  time.  Most 
newspaper  men  do  have  such  dreams;  or  else 
it  is  a  play  they  are  going  to  write.  Mean 
while,  pending  the  coming  of  that  day,  he  was 
storing  up  material  for  it  in  his  mind.  Assur 
edly  the  bleached-out,  pale,  old  recluse  in  the 
black  stock  would  make  copy.  Probably  his 
sisters  would  be  types  also,  and  they  might 
make  copy  too.  Olcott  answered  the  note,  ac 
cepting  the  invitation  for  that  same  evening. 

It  was  a  night  of  crystal-clear  moonlight, 
and  Olcott  walked  up  Putnam  Street  through 
an  alchemistic  radiance  which  was  like  a  path 
for  a  Puck  to  dance  along.  But  the  shimmer 
ing  aisle  broke  off  short,  when  he  had  turned 
in  at  the  broken  gate  and  had  come  to  the  edge 
of  the  shade  of  the  Van  Nicht  elm.  Under 
there  the  shadow  lay  so  thick  and  dense  that, 

_____ 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

as  he  groped  through  it  to  the  small  entry 
porch,  finding  the  way  by  the  feel  of  his  feet 
upon  the  irregular,  flagged  walk,  he  had  the 
conviction  that  he  might  reach  out  with  his 
hands  and  gather  up  folds  of  the  darkness  in 
his  arms,  like  ells  of  black  velvet.  The  faint 
glow  which  came  through  a  curtained  front 
window  of  the  unseen  house  was  like  a  phos 
phorescent  smear,  plastered  against  a  formless 
background,  and  only  served  to  make  the  ad 
jacent  darkness  darker  still.  If  the  moonlight 
yonder  was  a  fit  place  for  the  fairies  to  trip  it, 
this  particular  spot,  he  thought,  must  be  re 
served  for  ghosts  to  stalk  in. 

Fumbling  with  his  hands,  he  searched  out 
the  heavy  door  knocker.  Its  resounding  thump 
against  its  heel  plate,  as  he  dropped  it  back  in 
place,  made  him  jump.  At  once  the  door 
opened.  Centred  in  the  oblong  of  dulled  light 
which  came  from  an  oil  lamp  burning  upon  a 
table,  behind  and  within,  appeared  the  slender, 
warped  figure  of  Mr.  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht, 
4th.  With  much  ceremony  the  head  of  the 
house  bowed  the  guest  in  past  the  portals. 

Almost  the  first  object  to  catch  Olcott's  eye, 
as  he  stepped  in,  was  a  portrait  which,  with  its 
heavy  frame,  filled  up  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  wall  space  across  the  back  breadth  of  the 
square  hallway  into  which  he  had  entered.  Ex 
cepting  for  this  picture  and  the  table  with  the 
oil  lamp  upon  it  and  a  tall  hat-tree,  the  hall 

was  quite  bare. 

[188] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


Plainly  pleased  that  the  younger  man's  at 
tention  had  been  caught  by  the  painted  square 
of  canvas,  Mr.  Van  Nicht  promptly  turned  up 
the  wick  of  the  light,  and  then  Olcott,  looking 
closer,  saw  staring  down  at  him  the  close-set 
black  eyes  and  the  heavy-jowled,  foreign-look 
ing  face  of  an  old  man,  dressed  in  such  garb  as 
we  associate  with  our  conceptions  of  Thomas 
Jefferson  and  the  elder  Adams. 

"My  famous  forbear,  sir,"  stated  Olcott 's 
host,  with  a  great  weight  of  vanity  in  his 
words,  "the  original  bearer  of  the  name  which 
I,  as  his  great-grandson,  have  the  honour,  like 
wise,  of  bearing.  To  me,  sir,  it  has  ever  been 
a  source  of  deep  regret  that  there  is  no  likeness 
extant  depicting  him  in  his  uniform  as  a  regi 
mental  commander  in  the  Continental  armies. 
If  any  such  likeness  existed,  it  was  destroyed 
prior  to  the  colonel's  removal  to  this  place, 
following  the  close  of  the  struggle  for  Inde 
pendence.  This  portrait  was  executed  in  the 
later  years  of  the  original's  life — presumably 
about  the  year  1798,  by  order  of  his  son,  who 
was  my  grandfather.  It  was  the  son  who  en 
larged  this  house,  by  the  addition  of  a  wing  at 
the  rear,  and  to  him  also  we  are  indebted  for 
the  written  records  of  his  father's  gallant  per 
formances  on  the  field  of  honour,  as  well  as  for 
the  accounts  of  his  many  worthy  achievements 
in  the  lines  of  civic  endeavour.  Naturally  this 
portrait  and  those  records  are  our  most  pre- 
cious  possessions  and  our  greatest  heritages. 
[189] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"The  first  Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht  was  by 
all  accounts  a  great  scholar  but  not  a  practised 
scribe.  The  second  of  the  name  was  both.  Hence 
our  great  debt  to  him — a  debt  which  I  may  say 
is  one  in  which  this  community  itself  shares." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  Olcott. 

"And  now,  sir,  if  you  will  be  so  good,  kindly 
step  this  way,"  said  Mr.  Van  Nicht.  "The 
light,  I  fear,  is  rather  indifferent.  This  house 
has  never  been  wired  for  electricity,  nor  was  it 
ever  equipped  with  gas  pipes.  I  prefer  to  use 
lights  more  in  keeping  with  its  antiquity  and 
its  general  character." 

His  tone  indicated  that  he  did  not  in  the 
least  hold  with  the  vulgarised  and  common 
utilities  of  the  present.  He  led  the  way  diagon 
ally  across  the  hall  to  a  side  door  and  ushered 
Olcott  into  what  evidently  was  the  chief  living 
room  of  the  house.  It  was  a  large,  square  room, 
very  badly  lighted  with  candles.  It  was  clut 
tered,  as  Olcott  instantly  perceived,  with  a 
jumble  of  dingy-appearing  antique  furnishings, 
and  it  contained  two  women  who,  at  his  ap 
pearance,  rose  from  their  seats  upon  either  side 
of  the  wide  and  empty  fireplace.  Simultane 
ously  his  nose  informed  him  that  this  room  was 
heavy  with  a  pent,  dampish  taint. 

He  decided  that  what  it  mainly  needed  was 
air  and  sunshine,  and  plenty  of  both. 

"My  two  sisters,"  introduced  Mr.  Van 
Nicht.  "Miss  Rachael  Van  Nicht,  Mr.  Olcott. 

Miss  Harriet  Van  Nicht,  Mr.  Olcott." § 

"  [190] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


Neither  of  the  two  ladies  offered  her  hand 
to  him.  They  bowed  primly,  and  Olcott  bowed 
back  and,  already  feeling  almost  as  uncom 
fortable  as  though  he  had  invaded  the  privacy 
of  a  family  group  of  resident  shades  in  their 
resident  vault,  he  sat  down  in  a  musty-smell 
ing  armchair  near  the  elder  sister. 

Considered  as  such,  the  conversation  which 
followed  was  not  unqualifiedly  a  success.  The 
brother  bore  the  burden  of  it,  which  meant  that 
at  once  it  took  on  a  stiff  and  an  unnatural  and 
an  artificial  colouring.  It  was  dead  talk, 
stuffed  with  big  words,  and  strung  with  wires. 
There  were  semioccasional  interpolations  by 
Olcott,  who  continued  to  feel  most  decidedly 
out  of  place.  Once  in  a  while  Miss  Rachael 
Van  Nicht  slid  a  brief  remark  into  the  grooves 
which  her  brother  channelled  out.  Since  he 
was  called  upon  to  say  so  little,  Olcott  was  the 
better  off  for  an  opportunity  to  study  this  lady 
as  he  sat  there. 

His  first  look  at  her  had  told  him  she  was  of 
the  same  warp  and  texture  as  her  brother; 
somewhat  skimpier  in  the  pattern,  but  identi 
cal  in  the  fabric.  Olcott  decided  though  that 
there  was  this  difference:  If  the  brother  had 
stepped  out  of  Dickens,  the  sister  had  escaped 
from  between  the  hasped  lids  of  an  old  daguer 
reotype  frame.  Her  plain  frock  of  some  harsh, 
dead-coloured  stuff — her  best  frock,  his  intui 
tion  told  him — the  big  cameo  pin  at  her  throat, 
the  homely  arrangement  of  her  grey  hair,  her 
[191] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

hands,  wasted  and  withered-looking  as  they 
lay  on  her  lap,  even  her  voice,  which  was  lugu 
briously  subdued  and  flat — all  these  things  helped 
out  the  illusion.  Of  the  other  sister,  sitting 
two-thirds  of  the  way  across  the  wide  room 
from  him,  he  saw  but  little  and  he  heard  less. 
The  poor  light,  and  the  distance  and  the  deep 
chair  in  which  she  had  sunk  herself,  combined 
to  blot  her  out  as  a  personality  and  to  efface 
her  from  the  picture.  She  scarcely  uttered  a 
word. 

As  Olcott  had  expected  beforehand,  the  talk 
dealt,  in  the  main,  with  the  Van  Nicht  family, 
which  is  another  way  of  saying  that  it  went 
back  of  and  behind,  and  far  beyond,  all  that 
might  be  current  and  timely  and  pertinent  to 
the  hour.  There  was  no  substance  to  it,  for  it 
dealt  with  what  had  no  substance.  As  he 
stayed  on,  making  brave  pretense  of  being  in 
terested,  he  was  aware  of  an  interrupting, 
vaguely  irritating  sound  at  his  rear  and  partly 
to  one  side  of  him.  Patently  the  sound  was 
coming  from  without.  It  was  like  a  sustained 
and  steady  scratching,  and  it  had  to  do,  he  fig 
ured,  with  one  of  the  window  openings.  He 
took  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  but  he  couldn't 
make  out  the  cause;  the  window  was  too  heav 
ily  shrouded  in  faded,  thick  curtains  of  a  sad, 
dark-green  aspect.  The  thing  got  on  his  nerves, 
it  persisted  so.  Finally  he  was  moved  to  men 
tion  it. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  taking  ad- 
[192] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


vantage  of  a  pause,  "but  isn't  somebody  or 
something  fumbling  at  the  window  outside?" 

"It  is  a  bough  of  the  family  elm,"  explained 
Mr.  Van  Nicht.  "One  of  the  lower  boughs  has 
grown  forward  and  downward,  until  it  touches 
the  side  of  the  house.  When  stirred  by  the 
breeze  it  creates  the  sound  which  you  hear." 

Internally  Olcott  shivered.  Now  that  the 
explanation  had  been  vouchsafed  the  noise 
made  him  think  of  ghostly  fingers  tapping  at 
the  glass  panes — as  though  the  spirit  of  the 
tree  craved  admittance  to  the  dismal  circle  of 
these  human  creatures  who  shared  with  it  the 
tribal  glory. 

"Don't  you  find  it  very  annoying?"  he  asked 
innocently.  "I  should  think  you  would  prune 
the  limb  back."  He  halted  then,  realising  that 
his  tongue  had  slipped.  There  was  a  little  si 
lence,  which  became  edged  and  iced  with  a 
sudden  hostility. 

"No  human  hand  has  ever  touched  the  tree 
to  denude  it  of  any  part  of  its  majestic  beauty," 
stated  Mr.  Van  Nicht  with  a  frigid  intonation. 
"Whilst  any  of  this  household  survives  to  pro 
tect  it,  no  human  hand  ever  shall." 

From  the  elder  sister  came  a  murmur  of  as 
sent. 

The  conversation  had  sagged  and  languished 
before;  after  this  it  sank  to  a  still  lower  level 
and  gradually  froze  to  death.  After  possibly 
ten  minutes  more  of  the  longest  and  bleakest 
minutes  he  ever  recalled  having  weathered, 
[193] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Olcott,  being  mentally  chilled  through,  got  up 
and,  making  a  show  of  expressing  a  counterfeit 
pleasure  of  having  been  accorded  this  oppor 
tunity  of  meeting  those  present,  said  really  he 
must  be  going  now. 

In  their  places  Miss  Rachael  Van  Nicht  and 
her  brother  rose,  standing  stiff  as  stalagmites, 
and  he  knew  he  was  not  forgiven.  It  was  the 
younger  sister  who  showed  him  out,  preceding 
him  silently,  as  he  betook  himself  from  the 
presence  of  the  remaining  two. 

Close  up,  in  the  better  light  of  the  hall,  Ol 
cott  for  the  first  time  perceived  that  Miss  Har 
riet  Van  Nicht  was  not  so  very  old.  In  fact, 
she  was  not  old  at  all.  He  had  assumed  some 
how  that  she  must  be  sered  and  soured  and 
elderly,  or  at  least  that  she  must  be  middle- 
aged.  With  this  establishment  he  could  not 
associate  any  guise  of  youth  as  belonging.  But 
he  perceived  how  v/rong  he  had  been.  Miss 
Harriet  Van  Nicht  most  assuredly  was  not  old. 
She  could  not  be  past  thirty,  perhaps  she  was 
not  more  than  twenty-five  or  six.  It  was  the 
plain  and  ugly  gown  she  wore,  a  dun-coloured, 
sleazy,  shabby  gown,  which  had  given  her, 
when  viewed  from  a  distance,  the  aspect  of 
age — that  and  the  unbecoming  way  in  which 
she  wore  her  hair  slicked  back  from  her  fore 
head  and  drawn  up  from  round  her  ears.  She 
had  fine  eyes,  as  now  he  saw,  with  a  plaintive 
light  in  them,  and  finely  arched  brows  and  a 
delicate  oval  of  a  face;  and  she  was  small  and 

[  19*  ] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


dainty  of  figure.  He  could  tell  that,  too,  de 
spite  the  fit  of  the  ungraceful  frock. 

At  the  outer  door,  which  she  held  ajar  for 
his  passage,  she  spoke,  and  instantly  he  was 
moved  by  a  certain  wistfulness  in  her  tones. 

"It  was  a  pleasure  to  have  you  come  to  see 
us,  Mr.  Olcott,"  she  said,  and  he  thought  she 
meant  it  too.  "We  see  so  few  visitors,  living 
here  as  we  do.  Sometimes  I  think  it  might  be 
better  for  us  if  we  kept  more  in  touch  with 
people  who  live  in  the  outside  world  and  know 
something  of  it." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Van  Nicht,"  said  Olcott, 
warming.  "I'm  afraid,  though,  I  made  a 
rather  unfortunate  suggestion  about  the  tree. 
Really,  I'm  very  sorry." 

Her  face  took  on  a  gravity;  almost  a  con 
demning  expression  came  into  it.  And  when 
she  answered  him  it  was  in  a  different  voice. 

"A  stranger  could  not  understand  how  we 
regard  the  Van  Nicht  elm,"  she  said.  "No 
stranger  could  understand!  Good  night,  Mr. 
Olcott." 

At  the  last  she  had  made  him  feel  that  he 
was  a  stranger.  And  she  had  not  shaken  hands 
with  him  either,  nor  had  she  asked  him  to  call 
again. 

He  made  his  way  out,  through  the  black 
magic  of  the  tree's  midnight  gloom,  into  the 
pure  white  chemistry  of  the  moonlight;  and 
having  reached  the  open,  he  looked  back.  Ex- 
cept  for  that  faint  luminous  blotch,  like  smeared 
[  195  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

phosphorus,  showing  through  the  blackness  from 
beyond  the  giant  tree,  nothing  testified  thr,t  a 
habitation  of  living  beings  might  be  tucked 
away  in  that  drear  hiding  place.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  as  though  to  shake  a  load  off 
them  and,  as  he  swung  down  the  silvered  street 
in  the  flawless  night,  his  thoughts  thawed  out. 
He  decided  that  assuredly  two  of  the  Van 
Nichts  must  go  into  the  book  which  some  day, 
when  time  served,  he  meant  to  write. 

They  belonged  in  a  book — those  two  poor, 
pale,  sapless  creatures,  enduring  a  grinding  pov 
erty  for  the  sake  of  a  vain  idolatry;  those  joint 
inheritors  of  a  worthless  and  burdensome  fetish, 
deliberately  preferring  the  shadow  of  a  mouldy 
past  for  the  substance  of  the  present  day.  Why, 
the  thing  smacked  of  the  Oriental.  It  wasn't 
fit  and  sane  for  white  people — this  Mongolian 
ancestor-worship  which  shut  the  door  and  drew 
the  blind  to  every  healthy  and  vigorous  im 
pulse  and  every  beneficent  impulse.  Going 
along  alone,  Olcott  worked  himself  into  quite 
a  brisk  little  fury  of  impatience  and  disgust. 

He  had  it  right — they  belonged  in  a  book, 
those  two  older  Van  Nichts,  not  in  real  life. 
And  into  a  book  they  should  go — into  his  book. 
But  the  younger  girl,  now.  It  was  a  pitiable 
life  she  must  lead,  hived  up  there  in  that  musty 
old  house  under  that  terrific  big  tree  with  those 
two  grim  and  touchy  hermits.  On  her  account 
he  resented  it.  He  tried  to  picture  her  in  some 
more  favourable  setting.  He  succeeded  fairly 
[196] 


THE      FAMILY     TREE 


well  too.  Possibly,  though,  that  was  because 
Olcott  had  the  gift  of  a  brisk  imagination.  At 
times,  during  the  days  which  followed,  the  vision 
of  Harriet  Van  Nicht,  translated  out  of  her 
present  decayed  environment,  persisted  in  his 
thoughts.  He  wondered  why  it  did  persist. 

Nearly  a  month  went  by,  during  which  he 
saw  no  member  of  that  weird  household.  One 
day  he  encountered  upon  the  street  the  brother 
and  went  up  to  him  and,  rather  against  the 
latter 's  inclination,  engaged  him  in  small  talk. 
It  didn't  take  long  to  prove  that  Mr.  Van 
Nicht  had  very  little  small  talk  in  stock;  also 
that  his  one-time  air  of  distant  and  punctilious 
regard  for  the  newspaper  man  had  entirely 
vanished.  Mr.  Van  Nicht  was  courteous 
enough,  with  an  aloof  and  stand-away  cour- 
teousness,  but  he  was  not  cordial.  Presently 
Olcott  found  himself  speaking,  from  a  rather 
defensive  attitude,  of  his  own  ancestry.  He 
came  of  good  New  England  stock — a  circum 
stance  which  he  rarely  mentioned  in  company, 
but  which  now,  rather  to  his  own  surprise,  he 
found  himself  expounding  at  some  length.  Af 
terward  he  told  himself  that  he  had  been  mere 
ly  casting  about  for  a  subject  which  might 
prove  congenial  to  Mr.  Van  Nicht  and  had,  by 
chance,  hit  on  that  one. 

If  such  were  the  care,  the  expedient  failed. 

It  did  not  in  the  least  serve  to  establish  them 

upon  a  common  footing.     The  old  gentleman 

listened,  but  he  refused  to  warm  up;  and  when 

[197] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

he  bade  Olcott  good  day  and  limped  off,  he  left 
Olcott  profoundly  impressed  with  the  convic 
tion  that  Mr.  Van  Nicht  did  not  propose  to 
suffer  any  element  of  familiarity  to  enter  into 
their  acquaintanceship.  Feeling  abashed,  as 
though  he  had  been  rebuked  after  some  subtle 
fashion  for  presumption  and  forwardness,  Ol 
cott  dropped  into  the  handiest  bar  and  had  a 
drink  all  by  himself — something  he  rarely  did. 
But  this  time  he  felt  that  the  social  instinct  of 
his  system  required  a  tonic  and  a  bracer. 

Within  the  next  day  or  two  chance  gave  him 
opportunity  for  still  further  insight  into  the 
estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by  other  mem 
bers  of  the  .Van  Nicht  family.  This  happened 
shortly  before  the  close  of  a  cool  and  showery 
July  afternoon.  Leaving  his  desk,  he  took  ad 
vantage  of  a  lull  in  the  rain  to  go  for  a  solitary 
stroll  before  dinner.  He  was  briskly  traversing 
a  side  street,  well  out  of  the  business  district, 
when  suddenly  the  downpour  started  afresh. 
He  pulled  up  the  collar  of  his  light  raincoat 
and  turned  back  to  hurry  to  the  Hotel  Brain- 
ard,  where  he  lived.  Going  in  the  opposite  di 
rection  a  woman  pedestrian,  under  an  umbrella, 
met  him;  she  was  heading  right  into  the  slant 
ing  sheets  of  rain.  In  a  sidelong  glance  he 
recognised  the  profile  of  the  passer,  and  in 
stantly  he  had  faced  about  and  was  alongside 
of  her,  lifting  his  soaked  hat. 

"How  d'you  do,  Miss  Van  Nicht?"  he  was 
saying.  "I'm  afraid  you'll  make  poor  headway 
[  198  ] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

against  this  rainstorm.  Won't  you  let  me  see 
you  safely  home?" 

It  was  the  younger  Miss  Van  Nicht.  Her 
greeting  of  him  and  her  smile  made  him  feel 
that  for  the  moment  at  least  he  would  not  be 
altogether  an  unwelcome  companion.  As  he 
fell  in  beside  her,  catching  step  with  her  and 
taking  the  umbrella  out  of  her  hands,  he  noted 
with  a  small  throb  of  pity  that  her  cheap  dark 
skirt  was  dripping  and  that  the  shoes  she  wore 
must  be  insufficient  protection,  with  their  thin 
soles  and  their  worn  uppers,  against  wet 
weather.  He  noted  sundry  other  things  about 
her:  Seen  by  daylight  she  was  pretty — un 
deniably  pretty.  The  dampness  had  twisted 
little  curls  in  her  primly  bestowed  hair,  and 
the  exertion  of  her  struggle  against  the  storm 
had  put  a  becoming  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  was  out  on  an  errand  for  my  sister,"  she 
said.  "I  thought  I  could  get  home  between 
showers,  but  this  one  caught  me.  And  my 
umbrella — I'm  afraid  it  is  leaky." 

Undeniably  it  was.  Already  the  palm  of  Ol- 
cott's  hand  was  sopping  where  water,  seeping 
through  open  seams  along  the  rusted  ribs,  had 
run  down  the  handle.  Each  new  gust,  drum 
ming  upon  the  decrepit  cloth,  threatened  to 
make  a  total  wreck  of  what  was  already  but 
little  better  than  the  venerable  ruin  of  an  um 
brella. 

"You  must  permit  me  to  see  you  home  then," 
he  said.  He  glanced  up  and  down,  hoping  to 
[199] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

see  a  cab  or  a  taxi.  But  there  was  no  hireable 
vehicle  in  sight  and  the  street  cars  did  not  run 
through  this  street.  "I'm  afraid,  though,  that 
we'll  have  to  go  afoot." 

"And  I'm  afraid  that  I  am  taking  you  out 
of  your  way,"  she  said.  "You  were  going  in 
the  opposite  direction,  weren't  you,  when  you 
met  me?" 

"I  wasn't  going  anywhere  in  particular,"  he 
lied  gallantly;  "personally  I  rather  like  to  take 
a  walk  when  it's  raining." 

For  a  bit  after  this  neither  of  them  spoke, 
for  the  wind  all  at  once  blew  with  nearly  the 
intensity  of  a  small  hurricane,  buffeting  thick 
rain  spray  into  their  faces  and  spattering  it  up 
about  their  feet.  She  seemed  so  small — so  de 
fenceless  almost,  bending  forward  to  brace  her 
self  against  its  rude  impetuosity.  He  was 
mighty  glad  it  was  his  hand  which  clasped  her 
arm,  guiding  and  helping  her  along;  mighty  glad 
it  was  he  who  held  the  leaky  old  umbrella  in 
front  of  her  and  with  it  fended  off  some  part  of 
the  rain  from  her.  They  had  travelled  a  block 
or  two  so,  in  company,  when  the  summer  storm 
broke  off  even  more  abruptly  than  it  had 
started.  There  was  an  especially  violent  spat 
ter  of  especially  large  drops,  and  then  the  wind 
gave  one  farewell  wrench  at  the  umbrella  and 
was  gone,  tearing  .on  its  way. 

In  another  half  minute  the  setting  sun  was 
doing  its  best  to  shine  out  through  a  welter  of 
shredding  black  clouds.  There  were  wide  patches 
[  200  ] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


of  blue  in  the  sky  when  they  turned  into  Put 
nam  Street  and  came  within  sight  of  the  Van 
Nicht  elm,  rising  as  a  great,  green  balloon  at 
the  head  of  it.  By  now  they  were  chatting 
upon  the  basis — almost — of  a  seasoned  ac 
quaintanceship.  Olcott  found  himself  talking 
about  his  work.  When  a  young  man  tells  a 
young  woman  about  his  work,  and  is  himself 
interested  as  he  tells  it,  it  is  quite  frequently  a 
sign  that  he  is  beginning  to  be  interested  in 
something  besides  his  work,  whether  he  realises 
it  yet  or  not.  And  in  Miss  Van  Nicht  he  was 
pleased  to  discern  what  he  took  to  be  a  sym 
pathetic  understanding,  as  well  as  a  happy  apt 
ness  and  alertness  in  the  framing  of  her  replies. 
It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  this  was  the 
second  time  they  had  exchanged  words.  Rather 
it  was  as  though  they  had  known  each  other 
for  a  considerable  period;  so  he  told  him 
self. 

But  as,  side  by  side,  they  turned  in  at  the 
rickety  gate  of  the  ancestral  dooryard  and 
came  under  the  shadow  of  the  ancestral  tree, 
her  manner,  her  attitude,  her  voice,  all  about 
her  seemed  to  undergo  a  change.  Her  'pace 
quickened  for  these  last  few  steps,  and  she  cast 
a  furtive,  almost  an  apprehensive  glance  to 
ward  the  hooded  windows  of  the  house. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  late — my  sister  and  my 
brother  will  be  worrying  about  me,"  she  said  a 
little  nervously.  "And  I  am  sorry  to  have  put 

you  to  all  this  trouble  on  my  account." 

[201] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Trouble,  Miss  Van  Nicht?  Why,  it 
was 

"I  shan't  ask  you  in,"  she  said,  breaking  in 
on  him.  "I  know  you  will  want  to  be  getting 
back  to  the  hotel  and  putting  on  dry  clothes. 
Good-by,  Mr.  Olcott,  and  thank  you  very 
much." 

And  with  that  she  had  left  him,  and  she  was 
hurrying  up  the  porch  steps,  and  she  was  gone, 
without  a  backward  look  to  where  he  stood, 
puzzled  and  decidedly  taken  aback,  in  the  mid- 
die  of  the  seamed  flags  of  the  walk. 

He  was  nearly  at  the  gate  when  he  discov 
ered  that  he  had  failed  to  return  her  umbrella 
to  her;  so  he  went  back  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  It  was  the  elder  sister  who  answered. 
She  opened  the  door  a  scant  foot. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  she  said  austerely. 

"I  forgot  to  give  your  sister  her  umbrella," 
explained  Olcott. 

"So  I  perceive,"  she  replied,  speaking  through 
the  slit  with  a  kind  of  sharp  impatience,  and 
she  took  it  from  him.  "Thank  you!  We  are 
most  grateful  to  you  for  your  thoughtfulness." 

She  waited  then,  as  if  for  him  to  speak,  pro 
viding  he  had  anything  to  say — her  posture 
and  her  expression  meanwhile  most  forcibly  in 
terpreting  the  attitude  in  which  he  must  under 
stand  that  he  stood  here.  It  was  plain  enough 
to  be  sensed.  She  resented — they  all  resented 
— his  reappearance  in  any  role  at  the  threshold 
of  their  home.  She  was  profoundly  out  of  tem- 
[  202  ] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


per  with  him  and  all  that  might  pertain  and 
appertain  to  him.  So  naturally  there  was  noth 
ing  for  him  to  say  except  "Good  evening,"  and 
he  said  it. 

"Good  evening,"  she  said,  and  as  he  bowed 
and  backed  away  she  closed  the  door. 

Outside  the  fence  he  halted  and  looked  about 
him,  then  he  looked  back  over  the  gapped  and 
broken  palings.  Everywhere  else  the  little 
world  of  Putnam  Street  had  a  washed,  cleansed 
aspect;  everywhere  else  nearly  the  sun  slid  its 
flattened  rays  along  the  refreshed  and  mois 
tened  sod  and  touched  the  wayside  weeds  with 
pure  gold;  but  none  of  its  beams  slanted  over 
the  side  hill  and  found  a  way  beneath  the  in 
terlaced,  widespread  bulk  of  the  family  tree. 
He  saw  how  forlornly  the  lower  boughs,  under 
their  load  of  rain  water,  drooped  almost  to  the 
earth,  and  how  the  naked  soil  round  about  the 
vast  trunk  of  it  was  guttered  with  muddy,  yel 
low  furrows  where  little  torrents  had  coursed 
down  the  slope,  and  how  poisonously  vivid  was 
the  mould  upon  the  trunk.  The  triangular 
scar  in  its  lower  bark  showed  as  a  livid  green 
ish  patch.  Still  farther  back  in  the  shadow 
the  outlines  of  the  old  grey  house  half  emerged, 
revealing  dimly  a  space  of  streaked  walls  and 
the  sodden,  warped  shingles  upon  one  outjut- 
ting  gable  of  the  peaked  roof. 

"It's  not  an  honest  elm,"  thought  Olcott  to 
himself  in  a  little  impotent  rage.  "It's  a 
cursed  devil  tree,  a  upas  tree,  overshadowing 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

and  blighting  everything  pleasant  and  whole 
some  that  might  grow  near  it.  Bats  and  owls 
and  snails  belong  back  there — not  human  be 
ings.  There  ought  to  be  a  vigilance  committee 
formed  to  chop  it  down  and  blast  its  roots  out 
of  the  ground  with  dynamite.  Oh,  damn!" 

In  his  pocket  he  had  a  letter  from  the  pre 
siding  deity  of  the  organisation  that  owned  the 
string  of  papers  of  which  the  paper  he  edited 
was  a  part.  In  that  letter  he  was  invited  to 
consider  the  proposition  of  surrendering  his 
present  berth  with  the  Schuylerville  News- 
Ledger  and  going  off  to  Europe,  as  special  war 
correspondent  for  the  syndicate.  He  had  been 
considering  the  project  for  two  days  now.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  made  up  his  mind  to  accept. 
While  the  heat  of  his  petulance  and  disappoint 
ment  was  still  upon  him,  he  went  that  same 
evening  and  wired  his  acceptance  to  headquar 
ters.  Two  days  later,  with  his  credentials  in 
his  pocket  and  a  weight  of  sullen  resentment 
against  certain  animate  and  inanimate  objects 
in  his  heart,  he  was  aboard  a  train  out  of  Schuy 
lerville,  bound  for  New  York,  and  thereafter, 
by  steamer,  for  foreign  parts. 

He  was  away,  concerned  with  trenches,  gas 
bombs,  field  hospitals  and  the  quotable  opin 
ions  of  sundry  high  and  mighty  men  of  war- 
craft  and  statecraft,  for  upwards  of  a  year.  It 
was  a  most  remarkably  busy  year,  and  the  job 
in  hand  claimed  jealous  sovereignty  of  his  eyes, 

his  legs  and  his  brain,  while  it  lasted. 

[204] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


He  came  back,  having  delivered  the  goods 
to  the  satisfaction  of  his  employers,  to  find 
himself  promoted  to  a  general  supervision  of 
the  editorial  direction  of  the  papers  in  his  syn 
dicate,  with  a  thumping  good  salary  and  a  rov 
ing  commission.  He  willed  it  that  the  first 
week  of  his  incumbency  in  his  new  duties  should 
carry  him  to  Schuylerville.  In  his  old  office, 
which  looked  much  the  same  as  it  had  looked 
when  he  occupied  it,  he  found  young  Morgan, 
his  former  assistant,  also  looking  much  the  same, 
barring  that  now  Morgan  was  in  full  charge 
and  giving  orders  instead  of  taking  them.  Au 
thority  nearly  always  works  a  change  in  a  man; 
it  had  in  this  case. 

"Say,  Olcott,"  said  Morgan  after  the  talk 
between  them  had  ebbed  and  flowed  along  a 
little  while,  "you  remember  that  old  geezer, 
Van  Nicht,  don't  you?  You  know,  the  old 
boy  who  wrote  the  long  piece  about  his  family, 
and  you  ran  it?" 

"Certainly  I  do,"  said  Olcott.  "Why— what 
of  him?" 

Instead  of  answering  him  directly,  Morgan 
put  another  question: 

"And  of  course  you  remember  the  old  Van 
Nicht  house,  under  that  big,  whopping  elm  tree, 
out  at  the  end  of  Putnam  Street,  where  he  used 
to  live  with  those  two  freakish  sisters  of  his?" 

"Where  he  used  to  live?  Doesn't  he — don't 
they — live  there  now?" 

"Nope — tree's  gone  and  so  is  the  house." 
[205] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Gone?    Gone  where?" 

"Gone  out  of  existence — vamoosed.  Here's 
what  happened,  and  it's  a  peach  of  a  tale  too: 
One  night  about  six  months  ago  there  came  up 
a  hard  thunderstorm — lots  of  lightning  and  gobs 
of  thunder,  not  to  mention  rain  and  wind  a 
plenty.  In  the  midst  of  it  a  bolt  hit  the  Van 
Nicht  elm — ker-flewie — and  just  naturally  tore 
it  into  flinders.  When  I  saw  it  myself  the  next 
day  it  w^as  converted  from  a  landmark  into  the 
biggest  whisk  broom  in  the  world.  The  neigh 
bours  were  saying  that  it  rained  splinters  round 
there  for  ten  minutes  after  the  bolt  struck.  I 
guess  they  didn't  exaggerate  much  at  that,  be 
cause — 

"Was  the  house  struck  too?  Was  anybody 
hurt?"  Olcott  cut  in  on  him. 

"No,  the  house  escaped  somehow — had  a  few 
shingles  ripped  off  the  roof,  and  some  of  its 
windows  smashed  in  by  flying  scraps;  that 
was  all.  And  nobody  about  the  place  suffered 
anything  worse  than  a  stunning.  But  the  fright 
killed  the  older  sister — Miss  Rachael.  Any 
how,  that's  what  the  doctors  think.  She  didn't 
have  a  mark  on  her,  but  she  died  in  about  an 
hour,  without  ever  speaking.  I  guess  it  was 
just  as  well,  too,  that  she  did.  If  she  had  sur 
vived  the  first  shock  I  judge  the  second  one 
would  just  about  have  finished  her." 

"The  second  shock?  You  don't  mean  the 
lightning?" 

"No,  no!"  Morgan  hastened  to  explain. 
[206] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 

"Lightning  never  plays  a  return  date — never 
has  need  to,  I  take  it.  I  mean  the  shock  of 
what  happened  after  daylight  next  morning. 

"That  was  the  queerest  part  of  the  whole 
thing — that  was  what  made  a  really  big  story 
out  of  it.  We  ran  two  columns  about  it  our 
selves,  and  the  A.  P.  carried  it  for  more  than  a 
column. 

"After  the  storm  had  died  down  and  it  got 
light  enough  to  see,  some  of  the  neighbours 
were  prowling  round  the  place  sizing  up  the 
damage.  Right  in  the  heart  of  the  stump  of 
the  elm,  which  was  split  wide  open — the  stump, 
I  mean — they  found  a  funny-looking  old  cop 
per  box  buried  in  what  must  have  been  a  rot- 
ted-out  place  at  one  time,  maybe  ninety  or  a 
hundred  years  ago.  But  the  hollow  had  grown 
up,  and  nobody  ever  had  suspected  that  the 
tree  wasn't  solid  as  iron  all  the  way  through, 
until  the  lightning  came  along  and  just  natural 
ly  reached  a  fiery  finger  down  through  all  that 
hardwood  and  probed  the  old  box  out  of  its 
cache  and,  without  so  much  as  melting  a  hinge 
on  it,  heaved  it  up  into  sight,  where  the  first 
fellow  that  happened  along  afterward  would 
be  sure  to  see  it.  Well,  right  off  they  thought 
of  buried  treasure,  but  being  honest  they  called 
old  Van  Nicht  out  of  the  house,  and  in  his 
presence  they  opened  her  up — the  box  I  mean, 
—and  then,  lo  and  behold,  they  found  out  that 
all  these  years  this  town  had  been  worshipping 

a  false  god !      

[  207  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Yes,  sir,  the  great  and  only  original  Ce- 
cilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht  was  a  rank  fake.  He 
was  as  bogus  as  a  lead  nickel.  There  were 
papers  in  the  box  to  prove  what  nobody,  and 
least  of  all  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  ever  sus 
pected  before.  He  wasn't  a  hero  of  the  Revo 
lution.  He  wasn't  a  colonel  under  George 
Washington.  He  wasn't  of  Holland-Dutch 
stock.  His  name  wasn't  even  Van  Nicht.  His 
real  name  was  Jake  Nix — that's  what  it  was, 
Nix — and  he  was  just  a  plain,  everyday  Hes 
sian  soldier — a  mercenary  bought  up,  along 
with  the  other  Hessians,  and  sent  over  here  by 
King  George  to  fight  against  the  cause  of  lib 
erty,  instead  of  for  it. 

"As  near  as  we  can  figure  it  out,  he  changed 
his  name  after  the  war  ended,  before  he  moved 
here  to  live,  and  then  after  he  died — or  any 
how  when  he  was  an  old  man — his  son,  the 
second  Cecilius  Jacob,  concocted  the  fairy  tale 
about  his  father's  distinguished  services  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  The  son  was  the  one,  it 
seems,  who  capitalised  the  false  reputation  of 
the  old  man.  He  lived  on  it,  and  all  the  Van 
Nichts  who  came  after  him  lived  on  it  too — 
only  they  were  innocent  of  practising  any  de 
ception  on  the  community  at  large,  and  the 
second  Van  Nicht  wasn't.  It  certainly  put  the 
laugh  on  this  town,  not  to  mention  the  local 
aristocracy,  and  the  D.  A.  R.'s  and  the  Colonial 
Dames  and  the  rest  of  the  blue  bloods  general- 

ly,  when  the  news  spread  that  morning. 

[  208  ] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


"Oh,  there  couldn't  be  any  doubt  about  it! 
The  proofs  were  all  right  there  and  dozens'  of 
reliable  witnesses  saw  them — letters  and  papers 
and  the  record  of  old  Nix's  services  in  the  Brit 
ish  army.  In  fact  there  was  only  one  phase  of 
the  affair  that  has  remained  unexplained  and  a 
mystery.  I  mean  the  presence  of  the  papers 
in  the  tree.  Nobody  can  figure  out  why  the 
son  didn't  destroy  them,  when  he  was  creating 
such  a  swell  fiction  character  out  of  his  revered 
parent.  One  theory  is  that  he  didn't  know  of 
their  existence  at  all — that  the  old  man,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  hid  them  there 
in  that  copper  box  and  that  then  the  tree 
healed  up  over  the  hole  and  sealed  the  box  in, 
with  nobody  but  him  any  the  wiser,  and  no 
body  ever  suspecting  anything  out  of  the  way, 
but  just  taking  everything  for  granted.  Why, 
it  was  exactly  as  if  the  old  Nix  had  come  out  of 
the  grave  after  lying  there  for  a  century  or 
more,  to  produce  the  truth  and  shame  his  own 
offspring,  and  incidentally  scare  one  of  his  de 
scendants  plumb  to  death." 

"What  a  tragedy!"  said  Olcott.  But  his 
main  thought  when  he  said  it  was  not  for  the 
dead  sister  but  for  the  living. 

"You  said  it,"  affirmed  Morgan.  "That's 
exactly  what  it  was — a  tragedy,  with  a  good 
deal  of  serio-comedy  relief  to  it.  Only  there 
wasn't  anything  very  comical  about  the  figure 
the  old  man  Van  Nicht  cut  when  he  came  walk- 
ing  into  this  office  here  about  half  past  ten 
[209] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

o'clock  that  day,  with  a  ragged  piece  of  cre"pe 
tied  round  his  old  high  hat.  Olcott,  you  never 
in  your  life  saw  a  man  as  badly  broken  up  as 
he  was.  All  his  vanity,  all  his  bumptiousness 
was  gone — he  was  just  a  poor,  old,  shabby, 
broken-spirited  man.  I'd  already  gotten  a  tip 
on  the  story  and  I'd  sent  one  of  my  boys  out 
to  find  him  and  get  his  tale,  but  it  seemed  he'd 
told  the  reporter  he  preferred  to  make  a  per 
sonal  statement  for  publication.  And  so  here 
he  was  with  his  statement  all  carefully  written 
out  and  he  asked  me  to  print  it,  insisting  that  it 
ought  to  be  given  as  wide  circulation  as  possi 
ble.  I'll  dig  it  up  for  you  out  of  the  files  in  a 
minute  and  let  you  see  it. 

"Yes,  sir,  he'd  sat  down  alongside  his  sis 
ter's  dead  body  and  written  it.  He  called  it  A 
Confession  and  an  Apology,  and  I  ran  it  that 
way,  just  as  he'd  written  it.  It  wasn't  very 
long,  but  it  was  mighty  pitiful,  when  you  took 
everything  into  consideration.  He  begged  the 
pardon  of  the  public  for  unwittingly  practicing 
a  deceit  upon  it  all  through  his  life — for  living 
a  lie,  was  the  way  he  phrased  it — and  he  signed 
it  *  Jacob  Nix,  heretofore  erroneously  known  as 
Cecilius  Jacob  Van  Nicht,  4th.'  That  signa 
ture  was  what  especially  got  me  when  I  read 
it — it  made  me  feel  that  the  old  boy  was  liter 
ally  stripping  his  soul  naked  before  the  ridi 
cule  of  this  town  and  the  ridicule  of  the  whole 
country.  A  pretty  manly,  straightforward 
thing,  I  called  it,  and  I  liked  him  better  for 
[210] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


having  done  it  than  I  ever  had  liked  him  be 
fore. 

"Well,  I  told  him  I  would  run  the  card  for 
him  and  I  did  run  it,  and  likewise  I  toned  down 
the  story  we  carried  about  the  exposure  too. 
I'm  fairly  well  calloused,  I  guess,  but  I  didn't 
want  to  bruise  the  old  man  and  his  sister  any 
more  than  I  could  help  doing.  But,  of  course, 
I  didn't  speak  to  him  about  that  part  of  it.  I 
did  try,  in  a  clumsy  sort  of  way,  to  express  my 
sympathy  for  him.  I  guess  I  made  a  fairly  sad 
hash  of  it,  though.  There  didn't  seem  to  be 
any  words  to  fit  the  situation.  Or,  if  there 
were,  I  couldn't  think  of  them  for  the  moment. 
I  remember  I  mumbled  something  about  let 
ting  bygones  be  bygones  and  not  taking  it  too 
much  to  heart  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

"He  thanked  me,  and  then,  as  he  started  to 
go,  he  stopped  and  asked  me  whether  by  any 
chance  I  knew  of  any  opening — any  possible 
job  for  a  person  of  his  age  and  limitations.  I 
remember  his  words:  'It  is  high  time  that  I 
was  casting  about  to  find  honourable  employ 
ment,  no  matter  how  humble.  I  have  been 
trading  with  a  spurious  currency  for  too  long. 
I  have  spent  my  life  in  the  imposition  of  a 
monumental  deceit  upon  this  long  -  suffering 
community.  I  intend  now,  sir,  to  go  to  work 
to  earn  a  living  with  my  own  hands  and  upon 
my  own  merits.  I  wish  to  atone  for  the  r61e 
I  have  played.' 

"It    may    have    been    imagination,    but    I 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

thought  there  was  a  kind  of  faint  hopeful 
gleam  in  his  eye  as  he  looked  at  me  and  said 
this;  and  he  seemed  to  flinch  a  little  bit  when 
I  broke  the  news  to  him  that  we  didn't  have 
any  vacancies  on  the  staff  at  present.  I  sort 
of  gathered  that  he  rather  fancied  he  had  liter 
ary  gifts.  Literary  gifts?  Can't  you  just  see 
that  poor,  forlorn  old  scout  piking  round  so 
liciting  want  ads  at  twenty  cents  a  line  or  try 
ing  to  cover  petty  assignments  on  the  news 
end?  I  told  him,  though,  I'd  be  on  the  look 
out  for  something  for  him,  and  he  thanked  me 
mighty  ceremoniously  and  limped  out,  leaving 
me  all  choked  up.  Two  days  later,  after  the 
funeral,  he  telephoned  in  to  ask  me  not  to 
trouble  myself  on  his  account,  because  he  had 
already  established  a  connection  with  another 
concern  which  he  hoped  would  turn  out  to  be 
mutually  advantageous  and  personally  lucra 
tive;  or  words  to  that  effect. 

"So  I  did  a  little  private  investigating  that 
evening  and  I  found  out  where  the  old  chap 
had  connected.  You  see  I  was  interested.  A 
live  wire  named  Garrison,  who  owned  the  state 
rights  for  selling  the  World's  Great  Classics  of 
Prose  and  Poetry  on  subscriptions,  had  landed 
here  about  a  week  before.  You  know  the  kind 
of  truck  this  fellow  Garrison  was  peddling? 
Forty  large,  hard,  heavy  volumes,  five  dollars 
down  and  a  dollar  a  month  as  long  as  you  live; 
no  blacksmith's  fireside  complete  without  the 
full  set;  should  be  in  every  library;  so  much 
[212] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


for  the  full  calf  bindings;  so  much  for  the  half 
leather;  give  your  little  ones  a  chance  to  ac 
quire  an  education  at  a  trifling  cost;  come 
early  and  avoid  the  rush  of  those  seeking  to 
take  advantage  of  this  unparalleled  opportu 
nity  ;  price  positively  due  to  advance  at  the  end 
of  a  limited  period;  see  also  our  great  clubbing 
offer  in  conjunction  with  Bunkem's  Illustrated 
Magazine — all  that  sort  of  guff. 

"Well,  Garrison  had  opened  up  headquar 
ters  here.  He'd  brought  some  of  his  agents 
with  him — experts  at  conning  the  simple  peas 
antry  and  the  sturdy  yeomanry  into  signing 
on  the  dotted  line  A  and  paying  down  the  first 
installment  as  a  binder;  but  he  needed  some 
home  talent  to  fill  out  his  crew,  and  he  adver 
tised  with  us  for  volunteers.  Old  Van  Nicht 
—Nix,  I  mean — had  heard  about  it,  and  he 
had  applied  for  a  job  as  canvasser,  and  Garri 
son  had  taken  him  on,  not  on  salary,  of  course, 
but  agreeing  to  pay  him  a  commission  on  all 
his  sales.  That  was  what  I  found  out  that 
night." 

Before  Olcott's  eyes  rose  a  vision  of  a  dried- 
up,  bleak-eyed  old  man  limping  from  door 
step  to  doorstep,  enduring  the  rebuffs  of  fret 
ful  housewives  and  the  insolence  of  annoyed 
householders — a  failure,  and  a  hopeless,  pre 
destined  failure  at  that. 

"Too  bad,  wasn't  it?"  he  said. 

"What's  too  bad?"  asked  Morgan. 

"About  that  poor  old  man  turning  book 
[213] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

agent  at  his  age,  with  his  lack  of  experience 
with  the  ways  of  the  world." 

"Save  your  pity  for  somebody  that  needs  it," 
said  Morgan,  grinning.  "That  old  boy  doesn't. 
Why,  Olcott,  he  was  a  hit  from  the  first  min 
ute.  ;This  fellow  Garrison  was  telling  me  about 
him  only  last  week.  All  that  stately  dignity, 
all  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  courtesy  stuff,  all 
that  faculty  for  using  the  biggest  possible 
words  in  stock,  was  worth  money  to  the  old 
chap  when  he  put  it  to  use.  It  impressed  the 
simple-minded  rustic  and  the  merry  villager. 
It  got  him  a  hearing  where  one  of  these  gabby 
young  canvassers  with  a  striped  vest  and  a 
line  of  patter  memorised  out  of  a  book  would 
be  apt  to  fail.  Why,  he's  the  sensation  of  the 
book-agent  game  in  these  parts.  They  sick 
him  on  to  all  the  difficult  prospects  out  in  the 
country,  and  he  makes  good  nine  times  out  of 
ten.  He's  got  four  counties  in  his  territory,  with 
all  expenses  paid,  and  last  month  his  commis 
sions — so  Garrison  told  me — amounted  to  a 
hundred  and  forty  dollars,  and  this  month  he's 
liable  to  do  even  better.  What's  more,  accord 
ing  to  Garrison,  the  old  scout  likes  the  work 
and  isn't  ashamed  of  it.  So  what  do  you  know 
about  that?" 

As  Morgan  paused,  Olcott  asked  the  ques 
tion  which  from  the  first  of  this  recital  had 
been  shaping  itself  in  the  back  part  of  his  head : 

"The  other  sister — what  became  of  her?" 
He  tried  to  put  a  casual  tone  into  his  inquiry. 
[214] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


"You  mean  Miss  Harriet?  Well,  say,  in  her 
case  the  transformation  was  almost  as  great  as 
it  was  in  her  brother's.  She  came  right  out  of 
her  shell,  too — in  fact,  she  seemed  downright 
glad  of  a  chance  to  come  out  of  it  and  quit 
being  a  recluse.  She  let  it  be  noised  about  that 
she  was  in  the  market  for  any  work  that  she 
could  do,  and  a  lot  of  people  who  felt  sorry  for 
her,  including  Mayor  McGlynn,  who's  a  pretty 
good  chap,  interested  themselves  in  her  be 
half.  Right  off,  the  school  board  appointed 
her  a  substitute  teacher  in  one  of  the  lower 
grammar  grades  at  the  Hawthorne  School,  out 
here  on  West  Frobisher  Street.  She  didn't  lose 
any  time  in  delivering  the  goods  either.  Say, 
there  must  have  been  mighty  good  blood  in 
that  family,  once  it  got  a  real  chance  to  circu 
late.  The  kiddies  in  her  classes  all  liked  her 
from  the  start,  and  the  other  teachers  and  the 
principal  liked  her,  too,  and  when  the  fall  term 
begins  in  October  she  goes  on  as  a  regular. 

"On  top  of  that,  when  she'd  got  a  little 
colour  in  her  cheeks  and  had  frizzed  her  hair 
out  round  her  face,  and  when  she'd  used  up  her 
first  month's  pay  in  buying  herself  some  good 
black  clothes,  it  dawned  on  the  town  all  of  a 
sudden  that  she  was  a  mighty  good-looking, 
bright,  sweet  little  woman  instead  of  a  dowdy, 
sour  old  maid.  They  say  she  never  had  a 
sweetheart  before  in  her  life — that  no  man  ever 
had  looked  at  her  the  second  time;  at  least 
that's  the  current  gossip.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
[215] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

she  can't  complain  on  that  score  any  more, 
even  if  she  is  still  in  mourning  for  her 
sister." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?"  demanded  Ol- 
cott  suspiciously.  "Are  you  paying  her  atten 
tions  yourself?" 

"Who,  me?  Lord,  man,  no!  I'm  merely  an 
innocent  bystander.  You  see,  we  live  at  the 
same  boarding  house,  take  our  meals  at  the 
same  table  in  fact,  and  I  get  a  chance  to  see 
what's  going  on.  She  came  there  to  board — 
it's  Mrs.  Gale's  house — as  soon  as  she  moved 
out  of  the  historic  but  mildewed  homestead, 
which  was  about  a  month  after  the  night  of  the 
storm.  The  New  Diamond  Auto  Company — 
that's  a  concern  formed  since  you  left — bought 
the  property  and  tore  down  the  old  house,  after 
blasting  the  stump  of  the  family  tree  out  of 
the  ground  with  giant  powder;  they're  putting 
up  their  assembling  plant  on  the  site.  After 
the  mortgage  was  satisfied  and  the  back  taxes 
had  been  paid  up,  there  was  mighty  little  left 
for  the  two  heirs;  but  about  that  time  Miss 
Harriet  got  her  job  of  teaching  and  she  came 
to  Mrs.  Gale's  to  live,  and  that's  where  I  first 
met  her.  Two  or  three  spry  young  fellows 
round  town  are  calling  on  her  in  the  evenings— 
nearly  every  night  there's  some  fellow  in  the 
parlour,  all  spruced  up  and  highly  perfumed, 
waiting  to  see  her — not  to  mention  one  or  two 
of  the  unmarried  men  boarders." 

"Morgan,"  said  Qlcott  briskly,  "do  me  a 
[216] 


THE      FAMILY      TREE 


favour!  Take  me  along  with  you  to  dinner  to 
night  at  your  boarding  place,  will  you?" 

" Tired  of  hotels,  eh?  "  asked  Morgan.  "  Well, 
Mrs.  Gale  has  good  home  cooking  and  I'd  be 
glad  to  have  you  come." 

"That's  it,"  said  Olcott;  "I'm  tired  of  hotel 
life." 

"You're  on,"  said  Morgan. 

"Yes,"  said  Olcott,  "I  am — but  you're  not 
on — at  least  not  yet."  But  Morgan  didn't 
hear  that,  because  Olcott  said  it  to  himself. 


[217] 


CHAPTER  VII 
HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 


FROM  all  the  windows  of  Coloured  Odd 
Fellows'  Hall,  on  the  upper  floor  of  the 
two-story  building  at  the  corner  of  Oak 
and  Tennessee  Streets,  streamed  Jacob's 
ladders  of  radiance,  which  slanted  outward  and 
downward   into   the   wet   night.     Along   with 
these  crossbarred  shafts  of  lights,  sounds  as  of 
singing  and  jubilation  percolated  through  the 
blurry  panes.     It  was  not  yet  eleven  o'clock, 
the  date  being  December  thirty-first;  but  the 
New  Year's  watch  service,  held  under  the  aus 
pices   of   Castle   Camp,   Number    1008,   Afro- 
American  Order  of  Supreme  Kings  of  the  Uni 
verse,  had  been  going  on  quite  some  time  and 
was  going  stronger  every  minute. 

Odd  Fellows'  Hall  had  been  especially  en 
gaged  and  partially  decorated  for  this  occasion. 
Already  it  was  nearly  filled;  but  between  now 
and  midnight  it  would  be  fuller,  and  at  a  still 
later  time  would  doubtlessly  attain  the  super 
latively  impossible  by  being  fuller  than  fullest. 
[218] 


HARK!    FROMTHE    TOMBS 

From  all  directions,  out  of  the  darkness,  came 
belated  members  of  the  officiating  fraternity, 
protecting  their  regalias  under  umbrellas,  and 
accompanied  by  wives  and  families  if  married, 
or  bv  lady  and  other  friends  if  otherwise.  With 
his  sword  clanking  impressively  at  his  flank 
and  his  beplumed  helmet  nodding  grandly  as 
he  walked,  each  Supreme  King  of  the  Universe 
bore  himself  with  an  austere  and  solemn  mien, 
as  befitting  the  role  he  played — of  host  to  the 
multitude — and  the  uniform  that  adorned  his 
form. 

Later,  after  the  young  year  had  appropriate 
ly  been  ushered  in,  when  the  refreshments  were 
being  served,  he  might  unbend  somewhat.  But 
not  now.  Now  every  Supreme  Bang  was  what 
he  was,  wearing  his  dignity  as  a  becoming  and 
suitable  garment.  This  attitude  of  the  affiliated 
brethren  affected  by  contagion  those  who  came 
with  them  as  their  guests.  There  was  a  stateli- 
ness  and  a  formality  in  the  greetings  which 
passed  between  this  one  and  that  one  as  the 
groups  converged  into  the  doorway,  set  in  the 
middle  front  of  the  building,  and  by  pairs  and 
by  squads  ascended  the  stairs. 

"Good  evenin',  Sist'  Fontleroy.  I  trusts 
things  is  goin'  toler'ble  well  wid  you,  ma'am?" 

"Satisfactory,  Br'er  Grider — thank  de  good 
Lawd!  How's  all  at  yore  own  place  of  resi 
dence?" 

"Git  th'ough  de  C'ris'mus  all  right,  Mizz 

Hillman?" 

[219] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Yas,  suh;  'bout  de  same  ez  whut  I  always 
does,  Mist'  Duiguid." 

"Well,  ole  yeah's  purty  nigh  gone  frum  us, 
Elder ;  ain't  it  de  truth?" 

"Most  doubtless  is.  An'  now  yere  come 
'nother!  We  don't  git  no  younger,  sister,  does 
we?" 

"Dat  we  don't,  sholy!" 

The  ceremonial  reserve  of  the  moment  would 
make  the  jollifying  all  the  sweeter  after  the 
clocks  struck  and  the  whistles  began  to  blow. 

There  was  one  late  arrival,  though,  who 
came  along  alone,  wearing  a  downcast  coun 
tenance  and  an  air  of  abstraction,  and  speak 
ing  to  none  who  encountered  him  on  the  way 
or  at  the  portal.  This  one  was  Jeff  Poindexter; 
but  a  vastly  different  Jeff  from  the  customary 
Jeff.  Usually  he  moved  with  a  jaunty  gait, 
his  elbows  out  and  his  head  canted  back;  and 
on  the  slightest  provocation  his  feet  cut  scal 
lops  and  double  -  shuffles  and  pigeonwings 
against  the  earth.  Now  his  heels  scraped  and 
his  toes  dragged;  and  the  gladsome  raiment 
that  covered  his  person  gave  him  no  joy,  but 
only  an  added  sense  of  resentment  against  the 
prevalent  scheme  of  mundane  existence. 

An  unseen  weight  bowed  his  shoulders  down, 
and  beneath  the  wide  lapels  of  an  almost  white 
waistcoat  his  heart  was  like  unto  a  chunk  of 
tombstone  in  his  bosom.  For  the  current  light 
of  his  eyes,  Miss  Ophelia  Stubblefield,  had  ac- 
cepted  the  company  of  a  new  and  most  formi- 
[220] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

dable  rival  for  this  festive  occasion.  Wherefore 
an  embodiment  of  sorrow  walked  hand  in  hand 
with  Jeff. 

After  this  blow  descended  all  the  taste  of  de 
lectable  anticipation  in  his  mouth  had  turned 
to  gall  and  to  wormwood.  Of  what  use  now 
the  costume  he  had  been  at  such  pains  to  ac 
cumulate  from  kindly  white  gentlemen,  for 
whom  Jeff  in  spare  moments  did  odd  jobs  of 
valeting — the  long,  shiny  frock  coat  here;  the 
only  slightly  spotted  grey -blue  trousers  there; 
the  almost  clean  brown  derby  hat  in  another 
quarter;  the  winged  collar  and  the  puff  necktie 
in  yet  a  fourth?  Of  what  value  to  him  would 
be  the  looks  of  envy  and  admiration  sure  to  be 
bestowed  upon  the  pair  of  new,  shiny  and  ex 
cessively  painful  patent-leather  shoes,  specially 
acquired  and  specially  treasured  for  this  event? 

He  had  bought  those  shoes,  with  an  utter 
disregard  for  expense,  before  he  dreamed  that 
another  would  bring  Ophelia  to  the  watch 
party.  With  her  at  his  side,  his  soul  would 
have  risen  exultant  and  triumphant  above  the 
discomfort  of  cramped-up  toes  and  pinched-in 
heels.  Now,  at  each  dragging  step,  he  was 
aware  that  his  feet  hurt  him.  Indeed,  for  Jeff 
there  was  at  that  moment  no  balm  to  be  found 
throughout  all  Gilead,  and  in  his  ointment  dead 
flies  abounded  thickly. 

It  added  to  his  unhappiness  that  the  lady 
might  and  doubtlessly  would  rest  under  a  mis- 
apprehension  regarding  his  failure  to  invite  her 
[221] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

to  share  with  him  the  pleasures  of  the  night. 
He  had  not  asked  her  to  be  his  company;  had 
not  even  broached  the  subject  to  her.  For  this 
seeming  neglect  there  had  been  a  good  and 
sufficient  reason — one  hundred  and  ninety 
pounds  of  a  chocolate-coloured  reason.  Seven 
days  before,  on  Christmas  Eve,  Jeff  had  been 
currying  Mittie  May,  the  white  mare  of  Judge 
Priest,  in  the  stable  back  of  the  Priest  place, 
when  he  heard  somebody  whistle  in  the  alley 
behind  the  stable  and  then  heard  his  name 
called.  He  had  stepped  outside  to  find  one 
Smooth  Crumbaugh  leaning  upon  the  alley 
gate. 

"Hello,  Smoothy!"  Jeff  had  hailed  with  a 
smart  and  prompt  cordiality. 

It  was  not  that  he  felt  any  deep  warmth  of 
feeling  for  Smooth,  but  that  it  was  prudent  to 
counterfeit  the  same.  All  in  Smooth's  circle 
deported  themselves  toward  Smooth  with  a  pro 
found  regard  and,  if  Smooth  seemed  out  of 
sorts,  displayed  almost  an  affection  for  him, 
whether  they  felt  it  or  not.  'Twere  safer  thus. 

With  characteristic  brusqueness,  Smooth  en 
tirely  disregarded  the  greeting. 

"Come  yere  to  me,  little  nigger!"  he  said 
out  of  one  corner  of  his  lips,  at  the  same  time 
fixing  a  lowering  stare  upon  Jeff.  Then,  as 
Jeff  still  stood,  filled  with  sudden  misgivings: 
"Come  yere  quick  w'en  I  speaks!  Want  me 
to  come  on  in  dat  yard  after  you?" 

Jeff  was  conscious  of  no  act  of  wrongdoing 
[222] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

toward  Smooth  Crumbaugh.  With  Jeff,  dis 
cretion  was  not  only  the  greater  part  of  fight 
ing  valour  but  practically  was  all  of  it.  Never 
theless,  he  was  glad,  as  he  obeyed  the  sum 
mons  and,  with  a  placating  smile  fixed  upon 
bis  face,  drew  nearer  the  paling,  that  he  stood 
on  the  sanctuary  ground  of  a  circuit  judge's 
premises,  and  that  a  fence  intervened  between 
him  and  his  truculent  caller. 

"Comin5  right  along,"  he  said  with  an  af 
fected  gaiety. 

Just  the  same,  he  didn't  go  quite  up  to  the 
gate.  He  made  his  stand  three  or  four  feet  in 
side  of  it,  ready  to  jump  backward  or  sidewise 
should  the  necessity  arise. 

"I'se  feared  I  didn't  heah  you  call  de  fus 
time,"  stated  Jeff  ingratiatingly.  "I  wuzn't 
studyin'  about  nobody  wantin'  me — been  wipin' 
off  our  ole  mare.  'Sides,  I  thought  you  wuz 
down  in  Alabam',  workin'  on  de  ole  P.  and  A. 
Road." 

"  Num'mine  dat ! "  said  Smooth.  "  Jes'  lis'en 
to  whut  I  got  to  say." 

The  hostile  glare  of  his  eye  bored  straight 
into  Jeff,  making  him  chilly  in  his  most  impor 
tant  organs.  Smooth  was  part  basilisk,  but 
mainly  hyena,  with  a  touch  of  the  man-eating 
tiger  in  his  composition.  "Little  nigger,"  he 
continued  grimly,  "I  come  th'ough  dis  lane  on 
puppus'  to  tell  you  somethin'  fur  de  good  of 
yore  health." 

"I's  h's'enin',"  said  Jeff,  most  politely. 

[223] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Heed  me  clost,"  bade  Smooth;  "heed  me 
clost,  an'  mebbe  you  mout  live  longer.  Who 
wuz  you  at  de  Fust  Ward  Cullid  Baptis'  Church 
wid  last  Sunday  night?  Dat's  de  fust  ques 
tion." 

"Who— me?" 

"Yas;  you!" 

"Why,  lemme  see,  now,"  said  Jeff,  dissem 
bling.  "Seem  lak,  ez  well  ez  I  reckerleck,  I  set 
in  de  same  pew  wid  quite  a  number  of  folkses 
durin'  de  service." 

"I  ain't  axin'  you  who  you  set  wid.  I's  axin' 
you  who  you  went  wid?"  , 

"Oh!"  said  Jeff,  as  though  enlightened  as  to 
the  real  object  of  the  inquiry,  and  still  sparring 
for  time.  "You  means  who  did  I  go  dere  wid, 
Smoothy?  Well " 

"Wuz  it  dat  Stubblefield  gal,  or  wuzn't  it? 
Answer  me,  yas  or  no!" 

The  tone  of  the  questioner  became  more 
ominous,  more  threatening,  with  each  passing 
moment. 

Yas — yas,  Smoothy."    He  giggled  uneasily. 


ft 

"Uh-huh!    Dat's  who  'twuz." 


"Well,  see  dat  it  don't  happen  ag'in." 
"Huh?" 


"You  heared  whut  I  said!" 

"But  I—        But  she 

"See  dat  it  don't  happen  nary  time  ag'in." 
"But— but- 

"Say,  whut  you  mean,  interrup'in'  me  whilst 
I's  speakin'  wid  you  fur  yore  own  good?    Shut 
[  224  ] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

up  dat  trap-face  of  your'n  an'  lis'en  to  me,  whut 
I'm  sayin':  Frum  dis  hour  on,  you  stay  plum' 
away  f rum  dat  gal.  Understan'?" 

"Honest,  Smoothy,  I  didn't  know  you  wuz 
cravin'  to  be  prankin'  round  wid  Ophelia!" 

Jeff  spoke  with  sincerity,  from  the  heart  out. 
In  truth,  he  hadn't  known,  else  his  sleep  of 
nights  might  have  been  less  sound. 

"Dat  bein'  de  case,  you  better  keep  yore 
yeahs  open  to  heah  de  news,  else  you  won't 
have  no  yeahs.  Git  me  mad  an'  I's  liable  to 
snatch  'em  right  offen  de  sides  of  your  haid  an' 
feed  'em  to  you.  I's  tuck  a  lay-off  fur  de 
C'ris'mus.  An'  endurin'  de  week  I  spects  to 
spend  de  mos'  part  of  my  time  enjoyin'  dat 
gal's  society.  I  aims  to  be  wid  her  to-night 
an'  to-morrow  night  an'  de  nex'  night,  an'  ever' 
other  night  twell  I  goes  back  down  de  road.  I 
aims  to  tek  her  to  de  C'ris'mus  tree  doin's  at 
de  church  on  Friday  night,  an'  to  de  festibul 
at  de  church  on  Sad'day  night,  an'  to  de  watch 
party  up  at  de  Odd  Fellers'  Hall  on  New  Yeah's 
Eve.  Is  dat  clear  to  you?" 

"Suttinly  is,  seein'  ez  it's  you,"  assented  Jeff, 
trying  to  hide  his  disappointment  under  a  smile. 
"Course,  Smoothy,  ef  you  craves  a  young  lady's 
company  fur  a  week  or  so,  I  don't  know  no 
body  dat's  mo'  entitled  to  it'n  whut  you  is. 
Jes'  a  word  frum  you  is  plenty  fur  me.  You 
done  told  me  how  you  feels;  dat's  ample." 

"No,  'tain't!"  growled  Smooth.  "I  got 
somethin'  mo'  to  tell  you.  Frum  now  on,  all 
[  225  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

de  time  I's  in  dis  town  I  don't  want  to  heah  of 
you  speakin'  wid  dat  gal,  or  telephonin'  to  her, 
or  writin'  her  ary  note,  or  sendin'  ary  message 
to  her  house.  Ef  you  do  I's  gwine  find  out 
'bout  it;  an'  den  I's  gwine  lay  fur  you  an'  strip 
a  whole  lot  of  dark  meat  offen  you  wid  a  razor 
or  somethin'.  I  won't  leave  nothin'  of  you  but 
jes'  a  framework.  Now  den,  it's  up  to  you! 
Does  you  want  to  go  round  fur  de  rest  of  yore 
days  lookin'  lak  a  scaffoldin',  or  doesn't  you?" 

"Smoothy,"  protested  Jeff,  "I  ain't  got  no 
quarrel  wid  you.  I  ain't  aimin'  to  git  in  no 
rookus  wid  nobody  a-tall — let  alone  'tis  you. 
But  s'posen"' — he  added  this  desperately — 
"s'posen'  now  I  should  happen  to  meet  up  wid 
her  on  de  street.  Fur  politeness'  sake  I's 
natchelly  'bleeged  to  speak  wid  her,  ain't  I — 
even  ef  'tain't  nothin'  more'n  jes'  passin'  de 
time  of  day?" 

"Is  dat  so?"  said  Smooth  in  mock  sur 
prise.  "Well,  suit  yo'se'f;  suit  yo'se'f.  Only, 
de  words  you  speaks  wid  her  better  be  yore 
farewell  message  to  de  world.  Ef  any  thin  '  hap 
pen  to  you  now,  sech  ez  a  fun'el,  hit's  yore  own 
fault — you  done  had  yore  warnin'  frum  head 
quarters.  I  ain't  got  no  mo*  time  to  be  wastin' 
on  a  puny  little  scrap  of  nigger  sech  ez  you  is. 
I's  on  my  way  now.  But  jes'  remember  whut 
I  been  tellin'  you  an'  govern  yo'se'f  'cordin'ly." 

And  with  that  the  bully  turned  away,  leav 
ing  poor  Jeff  to  most  discomforting  reflections 
amid  the  ruins  of  his  suddenly  blasted  romance. 
[226] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

The  full  scope  of  his  rival's  design  stood  so 
clearly  revealed  that  it  left  to  its  victim  no 
loophole  of  escape  whatsoever.  Not  only  was 
he  to  be  debarred,  by  the  instinct  of  self-pres 
ervation,  from  seeking  the  presence  of  Ophelia 
during  the  most  joyous  and  the  most  socially 
crowded  week  of  the  entire  year;  not  only  were 
all  his  pleasant  dreams  dashed  and  smashed, 
but,  furthermore,  he  might  not  even  make  ex 
cuses  to  her  for  what  would  appear  in  her  eyes 
as  an  abrupt  and  unreasonable  cessation  of 
sentimental  interest  on  his  part,  save  and  ex 
cept  it  be  done  at  dire  peril  to  his  corporeal 
well-being  and  his  physical  intactness. 

Above  all  things,  Jeff  Poindexter  coveted  to 
stay  in  one  piece.  And  Smooth  Crumbaugh 
was  one  who  nearly  always  kept  his  word — es 
pecially  when  that  word  involved  threats 
against  any  who  stood  between  him  and  his 
personal  ambitions. 

Jeff,  watching  the  broad  retreating  back  of 
Smooth,  as  Smooth  swaggered  out  of  the  alley, 
fetched  little  moans  of  acute  despair.  To  him 
remained  but  one  poor  morsel  of  consolation — 
no  outsider  had  been  a  witness  to  his  interview 
with  the  bad  man.  Unless  the  bad  man  brag 
ged  round,  none  need  know  how  abject  had 
been  Jeff's  capitulation. 

Solitary,  melancholy,  a  prey  to  conflicting 
emotions,  Jeff  Poindexter  climbed  the  stairs 
leading  up  to  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,  at  the  heels  of 

[227] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

a  family  group  of  celebrants.  Until  the  last 
minute  he  hadn't  meant  to  come;  but  some 
thing  drew  him  hither,  even  as  the  moth  to  the 
flame  is  drawn.  He  paid  his  fifty  cents  to  the 
Most  High  Grand  Outer  Guardian,  who  was 
stationed  at  the  door  in  the  capacity  of  ticket 
taker  and  cash  collector,  and  entered  in,  to 
find  sitting-down  space  pretty  much  all  occu 
pied  and  standing  room  rapidly  being  pre 
empted — especially  round  the  walls  and  at  the 
back  of  the  long  assembly  room. 

Outside,  the  air  was  muggy  with  the  cling 
ing  dampness  of  a  rainy,  mild  winter's  night;  a 
weak  foretaste  of  the  heightened  mugginess 
within.  Nearly  always,  in  our  part  of  the 
South,  the  first  real  cold  snap  came  with  the 
New  Year;  but,  as  yet,  there  were  no  signs  of 
its  approach.  Inside,  thanks  to  a  big  pot 
bellied  stove,  choked  with  hot  coals,  and  to  the 
added  circumstance  of  all  the  windows  being 
closed,  the  temperature  was  somewhere  up 
round  eighty;  which  was  as  it  should  be.  When 
the  coloured  race  sets  itself  to  enjoy  itself,  it 
desires  warmth,  and  plenty  of  it. 

This  crowd  was  hot  and  therefore  happy. 
Trickles  of  perspiration,  coursing  downward, 
streaked  the  rice  powder  upon  the  cheeks  of 
many  mezzotint  damosels,  and  made  to  glisten 
the  faces  of  the  chrome-shaded  gallants  who 
squired  them. 

On  the  platform  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall, 
beneath  crossed  flags,  sat  the  principal  offi- 
[228] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

elating  dignitaries,  three  in  number — first,  the 
Imperial  Grand  Potentate  of  the  lodge,  holder 
of  an  office  corresponding  to  president  else 
where,  but  invested  with  rather  more  grandeur 
than  commonly  appertains  to  a  presidency; 
then  the  second  in  command,  known  formally 
as  First  Vice  Imperial  Grand  Potentate;  and 
thirdly,  the  Reverend  Potiphar  Grasty,  pastor 
of  First  Ward  Church. 

Facing  these  three  and,  in  turn,  faced  by 
them,  sat  on  the  front  seats  the  Supreme  Kings, 
temporarily  detached  from  their  kinspeople  and 
well-wishers,  who,  with  the  populace  generally, 
filled  the  serried  rows  of  chairs  and  benches  be 
hind  the  uniformed  ranks. 

At  the  rear,  near  the  main  entrance,  in  a 
cleared  space,  stood  two  long  trestles  bearing 
the  refreshments,  of  which,  at  a  suitable  mo 
ment,  all  and  sundry  would  be  invited  to  par 
take.  The  feast  plainly  would  be  a  rich  and 
abundant  one,  including,  as  it  did,  such  items 
as  cream  puffs,  ham  sandwiches,  Frankfurters, 
bananas,  and  soda  pop  of  the  three  more  popu 
lar  varieties — lemon,  sarsaparilla  and  straw 
berry — in  seemingly  unlimited  quantities. 

Sister  Eldora  Menifee,  by  title  Queen  Bee  of 
the  Ladies'  Royal  Auxiliary  of  the  Supreme 
Kings,  had  charge  of  the  collation,  its  arrange 
ment  and  its  decorations.  She  hovered  about 
her  handiwork,  a  mighty,  black  mountain,  vigi 
lant  to  frown  away  any  who  might  undertake 
any  clandestine  poaching.  The  display  of  nap- 
[229] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND      THESE 

ery  and  table  linen  was  most  ample;  and  why 
not?  Didn't  Sister  Menifee  do  the  washing  for 
the  biggest  white  folks'  boarding  house  in 
town? 

With  an  eye  filmed  and  morose,  Jeff  Poindex- 
ter,  pausing  at  the  rear,  comprehended  this 
festive  scene.  Then,  as  his  gaze  ran  to  and  fro, 
he  saw  that  which  he  dreaded  to  see  and  yet 
sought  to  behold.  He  saw  Smooth  Crum- 
baugh  sitting  with  Ophelia  on  the  right  side  of 
the  hall,  well  up  toward  the  front.  Their  backs 
were  to  him;  their  heads  inclined  side  wise  to 
ward  a  common  centre. 

The  loose  fold  of  flesh  in  Smooth's  bull  neck 
pouched  down  over  his  glistening  collar  as  he 
slanted  one  shoulder  to  whisper  sweet  some 
things  in  Ophelia's  ear.  They  must  have  been 
sweet  somethings,  and  witty  withal;  for  at 
once  the  lady  gave  vent  to  a  clear  soprano  gig 
gle.  Her  mirthful  outburst  rose  above  the  bab 
ble  of  voices  and,  floating  backward,  pierced 
Jeff  Poindexter's  bosom  as  with  darts  and  jave 
lins;  and  jealousy,  meantime,  like  the  Spartan 
boy's  fox,  gnawed  at  his  inwards. 

The  sight  and  the  sound,  taken  together, 
made  Jeff  Poindexter  desperate  almost  to  the 
point  of  outright  recklessness — almost,  but  not 
quite.  He  noted  the  fortuitous  circumstance 
of  a  vacant  chair  directly  behind  the  pair  he 
watched.  Surely  now  Smooth  Crumbaugh 
would  start  no  disturbance  here.  Surely — so 
Jeff  reasoned  it — time,  place,  occasion  and  the 
[  230  ] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

present  company,  all  would  operate  and  co 
operate  to  curb  Smooth's  chronic  belligerency. 

If  only  for  a  fleeting  period,  Jeff  longed  to 
venture  within  conversational  distance  of 
Ophelia;  to  bask  for  a  spell  in  one  of  her  bril 
liant  smiles;  to  prove  to  her  by  covert  looks,  if 
not  by  whispered  words,  that  there  were  no  ill 
feelings;  to  give  her  an  opportunity  for  visual 
appreciation  of  his  housings;  and,  most  of  all, 
subtly  to  convey  the  suggestion  that  it  was  bod 
ily  indisposition  which  had  caused  him  to  ab 
sent  himself  from  her  presence  throughout  the 
Christmas.  Under  cover  of  his  hand  he  re 
hearsed  a  deep  cough,  and  simultaneously  be 
gan  to  inch  his  way  along  an  aisle  toward  the 
coveted  seat  in  the  adjacent  rear  of  the  couple. 

The  programme  proper  was  well  under  way; 
it  had  begun  auspiciously  and  it  promised  much. 
There  had  been  a  prayer  and  a  welcoming  ad 
dress  by  the  Imperial  Grand  Potentate,  and 
now  there  was  singing.  Starting  shortly,  the 
annual  memorial  service  for  any  member  or 
members  who  had  departed  this  life  during  the 
preceding  twelve  months  wrould  follow;  this 
lasting  until  five  minutes  before  midnight. 
Then  all  the  lights  would  be  turned  out,  and 
the  gathering  would  sit  in  darkness,  singing 
some  lugubriously  appropriate  song  as  a  vocal 
valedictory  for  the  passing  year  until  the  first 
stroke  of  midnight,  when  the  lights  would  flash 
on  again.  Thereafter  would  follow  the  strictly 

social  phases  of  the  watch  party. 

[231] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Almost  until  the  last  it  had  seemed  that  the 
memorial  exercises  would  have  to  be  foregone 
for  lack  of  material  to  work  on.  But  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  as  it  were,  Red  Hoss  Shackle- 
ford,  who  always  heretofore  had  been  a  disap 
pointment  to  everybody,  had  greatly  obliged, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  disproved  the  oft-re 
peated  assertion  that  one  born  for  hanging  can 
never  be  drowned,  by  falling  overboard  off  the 
tugboat  Giles  C.  Jordan. 

This  tragedy  had  occurred  at  a  late  hour  of 
the  evening  of  December  twenty-sixth,  when 
the  Giles  C.  Jordan  was  forty  miles  up  Tennes 
see  River  on  a  crosstie-towing  venture,  and 
while  Red  Hoss  Shackleford,  who  had  shipped 
aboard  her  as  cook  and  general  roustabout,  was 
yet  overcome  by  the  potent  elements  of  his 
Christmas  celebration,  self-administered  inter 
nally  in  liquid  form. 

At  least  such  were  the  tidings  borne  by  the 
captain  and  surviving  crew  upon  their  return 
to  port  on  the  twenty-ninth  instant.  Where 
upon  the  Supreme  Kings  had  seized  upon  the 
opportunity  thus  vouchsafed  as  a  free  gift  of  a 
frequently  inscrutable  Providence. 

To  be  sure,  the  late  Shackleford  was  not  ex 
actly  a  member  in  good  standing.  Two  years 
before,  in  a  fine  fervour  of  enthusiasm  induced 
by  the  splendour  of  the  uniforms  worn  at  the 
funeral  turnout  of  a  departed  brother,  Red 
Hoss  had  joined  the  lodge.  He  had  fallen  be 
hind  in  his  dues,  and,  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
[232] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

poses,  had  been  expunged  from  the  rolls.  Red 
Hoss  generally  was  in  arrears,  anyhow,  except 
for  those  obligations  he  owed  the  county  chain 
gang.  Those  were  debts  he  always  paid — if 
they  could  catch  him. 

None  the  less,  certain  points  were  waived  by 
acclamation,  following  the  receipt  of  the  news 
of  his  taking-off.  It  was  agreed  that  one  Red 
Hoss  Shackleford  dead  at  such  time  was  worth 
ten  Red  Hoss  Shacklefords  living.  His  mem 
ory  was  to  be  perpetuated,  thereby  lending  to 
the  programme  precisely  that  touch  of  serious 
ness  which  was  needed  to  round  it  out  and 
make  of  it  a  thing  complete  and  adequate. 

To  add  to  the  effect,  his  sole  surviving  rela 
tive,  a  half  sister,  by  name  Sister  Rosalie 
Shackleford,  had  a  prominent  place  at  the  front, 
flanking  the  low  platform.  It  was  conceivable, 
everything  considered,  that  her  loss  had  been 
no  great  one;  nevertheless,  with  a  fine  theatric 
instinct  for  the  unities  and  the  verities,  she  now 
deported  herself  as  one  utterly  devastated  by  a 
grief  almost  too  great  to  be  borne.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  it — when  this  sister  mourned, 
she  mourned ! 

With  her  prevalent  dark  complexion  en 
hanced  by  enshrouding  ells  of  black  crape,  she 
half  lay,  half  sat  in  a  slumped  attitude  betoken 
ing  utter  and  complete  despondency,  and  at 
timely  intervals  uttered  low  moans  and  sobs. 
Two  friends  attended  her  in  a  ministering  capac- 
ity.  One  fanned  her  assiduously.  The  other, 
[  233  ] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

who  was  of  ample  girth,  provided  commodious 
and  billowy  accommodations  for  her  supine 
form  when  she  slipped  back  after  swooning 
dead  away.  It  was  expected  of  Sister  Rosalie 
that  she  should  faint  occasionally  and  be  re 
vived;  and  so  she  did. 

The  ritualistic  features  of  the  night  had  been 
disposed  of  and  the  singing  was  in  full  swing 
as  Jeff  Poindexter  edged  along,  pussyfooting 
like  a  house  cat,  toward  the  point  he  sought. 
Eventually  he  arrived  there  unobserved  by  the 
quarry  he  stalked. 

Up  to  this  point  fortune  had  favoured  him; 
none  had  pre-empted  the  one  vacant  chair,  half 
concealed  from  general  view  as  it  had  been  by 
the  adjacent  bulk  of  a  very  fleshy  black  wom 
an.  With  a  whispered  apology  to  her  for  in 
truding,  Jeff  wormed  his  way  in  alongside.  He 
let  himself  softly  down  into  the  seat  and  began 
to  cough  the  gentle  cough  of  a  quasi  invalid 
now  on  the  road  to  recovery. 

Together,  it  would  seem,  the  pair  in  front  of 
him  sensed  his  presence  so  near  them.  With 
one  accord  they  swung  their  heads. 

"Evenin',  Miss  Stubblefield.  Evenin', 
Smoothy,"  said  Jeff,  smiling  wanly,  as  a  con 
valescent  naturally  would.  "Seein'  ez  how  dis 
yere  cheer  wuz  onuccupied,  I  jes'  taken  it  so's 
to  be  out  of  de  draf.  I  ain't  been  so  well  dis 
week — had  a  little  tech  of  pneumonia,  I  think 
'twuz;  an'  so — 

Ophelia's  surprised  murmur  of  sympathy  was 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

cut  short.  Smooth  Crumbaugh  distorted  his 
gingerbread-coloured  countenance  into  a  hide 
ous  war  mask.  He  turned  in  his  place,  thrust 
ing  his  face  forward.  "Git  up  outen  dat  seat!" 
he  ordered  in  a  low,  forceful  grumble. 

"But  de  seat  ain't  taken,  Smoothy,"  protest 
ed  Jeff  weakly.  "I  'lowed  I'd  set  yere  jes'  fur 
a  minute  or  two,  account  of  de  draf ." 

"Git  up  outen  dat  cheer!"  repeated  Smooth 
Crumbaugh  in  a  louder  tone. 

His  shoulders  began  to  hunch  and  his  hands 
to  curl  up  into  fists.  Ophelia's  rising  agitation 
was  tempered  perhaps  by  the  realisation  of  the 
fact  that  for  her  favour  two  persons,  both  well 
known  and  prominent  in  their  respective 
spheres  of  activity,  were  about  to  have  words 
— possibly  to  exchange  threats,  or  even  blows. 
To  be  the  storm  centre  of  such  a  sensation  is 
not  always  entirely  unpleasant,  especially  if 
one  be  young  and  personable.  She  spoke  now 
in  a  voice  clearly  audible  to  several  about  her. 

"Please,  suzz,  gen'lemen,  both  of  you  be  nice 
an'  quiet!"  she  implored.  "I  trusts  there  ain't 
goin'  be  no  trouble  'cause  of  me." 

'  'Tain't  goin'  be  no  trouble,  gal,"  stated 
Smooth,  as  Jeff  sat  dumb  with  apprehension. 
"  'Tain't  goin'  be  nothin'  but  a  pleasure  to  me 
to  haul  off  an'  knock  dis  little  nigger  naiked." 
He  addressed  Jeff:  "Git  up  outen  dat  cheer, 
lak  I  tells  you!  Start  travellin',  an'  keep  on 
travellin'.  Git  plum'  out  of  dis  yere  buildin'!" 

Daunted  to  the  very  taproots  of  his  being, 
[  235  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Jeff  nevertheless  strove  to  save  his  face.  He 
made  pretense  that  his  cough  prevented  the 
utterance  of  a  defiant  rejoinder  as  he  rose  and 
backed  out  into  the  aisle  and  worked  his  way 
toward  the  rear,  with  Smooth  Crumbaugh's 
glower  following  after  him.  Perhaps  the  ex 
cellence  of  his  acting  may  have  deceived  some, 
but  in  his  own  soul  Jeff  suffered  amain. 

Far  back,  hard  by  the  refreshment  stand,  he 
wriggled  himself  in  behind  an  intervening  frieze 
of  standees.  His  judgment  warned  him  that  he 
should  heed  Smooth  Crumbaugh's  wishes  and 
entirely  betake  himself  hence;  but  his  crushed 
and  bruised  spirit  revolted  against  a  surrender 
so  abject  and  so  utter.  He  told  himself  he  had 
given  up  his  chair  because  he  did  not  care  to 
be  sitting  down,  anyway.  Even  so,  this  was  a 
free  country  and  he  would  stay  a  while  longer 
if  he  wanted  to  stay.  Only,  he  meant  to  keep 
yards  of  space  and  plenty  of  bystanders  be 
tween  him  and  Smooth  Crumbaugh.  He  would 
be  self-effacive,  but  not  absolutely  absent. 

With  an  ear  dulled  by  chagrin,  he  hearkened 
as  the  Reverend  Grasty  rose  and  opened  his 
discourse  touching  on  the  life  and  works  of  the 
late  Red  Hoss  Shackleford.  The  speaker's 
very  first  words  made  it  clear  to  all  that  he 
had  come  to  bury  Caesar — not  to  praise  him. 
Really,  the  only  complimentary  thing  which 
might  truthfully  be  said  of  Red  Hoss  was  that 
always  he  had  a  good  appetite.  At  once  the 
Reverend  Grasty  manifested  that  he  meant  to 
[236] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

adopt  no  weak  and  temporising  course  in  his 
discussion  of  the  subject  in  hand.  Forthrightly 
he  launched  into  a  stirring  recital  of  the  short 
comings  of  the  deceased;  and  out  of  his  topic's 
sins,  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  impenitence,  he 
builded  a  vivid  lesson  to  warn  the  living. 

If  one  might  judge  by  her  behaviour,  the 
lorn  half  sister  resented  not  the  attitude  and 
the  language  of  the  orator.  She  forgot  to  faint 
and  she  sat  erect.  Presently  she  was  chanting 
an  accompaniment  to  his  shouted  illustrations. 

"Oh,  my  pore  lost  brother,  sunken  in  de  cold 
waters."  She  quavered  in  a  fine  camp-meeting 
tremolo.  "Oh,  my  pore  on  worthy  brother, 
whut  we  gwine  do  'bout  you  now?" 

Fervently  deep  amens  began  to  arise  from 
other  quarters,  punctuating  the  laments  of  Sis 
ter  Rosalie  and  the  louder  outpourings  of  the 
Reverend  Grasty.  The  memorial  service  was 
turning  out  to  be  the  high  point  of  the  watch 
party. 

In  spite  of  personal  distractions,  Jeff  was 
carried  away  by  the  dramatic  intensity  of  the 
scene.  Forgetting  momentarily  his  own  trouble, 
he  shoved  forward,  the  better  to  see  and  hear. 
A  menacing  growl  in  his  off  ear  brought  him 
back  to  earth  with  a  jolt.  It  was  the  dread 
voice  of  Smooth  Crumbaugh,  speaking  from  a 
distance  not  of  yards  but  of  inches.  And  now, 
as  Jeff  turned  his  head,  Smooth's  outjutted 
underlip  was  almost  brushing  the  tip  of  his 

nose. 

[  237  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Thought  I  tole  you  to  git  plum'  outen  dis 
hall!"  quoth  Smooth;  and  his  voice,  more  than 
before,  was  freighted  with  the  menace  of  dire 
catastrophe,  imminent  and  impending. 

Jeff  didn't  dare  reply  in  regular  words.  He 
muttered  unintelligible  sounds  beneath  his 
breath,  seeking  the  while  to  draw  away. 

"Quit  mumblin'!"  ordered  Smooth.  "You's 
liable  to  mumble  up  somethin'  I  don't  keer  to 
heah,  an'  den  I'll  tek  an'  jes'  natchelly  mek  a 
set  of  nigger  shoestrings  outen  you.  B'lieve 
I'll  do  hit  anyway — right  now!" 

One  of  his  hands — the  left  one — closed  en- 
twiningly  in  Jeff's  coat  collar.  His  right  stole 
back  toward  his  hip  pocket — the  pocket  where 
in  Smooth  was  reputed  to  carry  his  razor.  Jeff 
felt  dark  wings  fanning  his  clammy  brow. 

"Speak  up  an'  say  whut  you  got  to  say  whilst 
you  is  got  de  breath  to  say  hit,"  said  the  bad 
man. 

"I — I  wus  jes'  fixin'  to  go,  Smoothy,"  his 
voice  squeaked. 

"Naw,  you  wuzn't.  Ain't  I  been  watchin' 
you,  hangin'  round  back  yere  whar  you  thought 
I  couldn't  see  you.  Now  den— 

A  uniformed  and  helmeted  form  bulged  in 
between  them,  breaking  Smooth's  hold  on  Jeff. 
The  disturbance  had  drawn  the  Most  High 
Grand  Outer  Guardian  away  from  his  post  at 
the  door. 

"Yere!  Dat'll  be  'bout  all!"  stated  this 
functionary  in  a  voice  of  authority.  "Go  on 
[238] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

outside,  you  two,  ef  you  wants  to  argify  wid 
one  nurr.    Dis  ain't  no  place  to  be  'sputin'." 

He  gave  a  violent  start  of  surprise  and  his 
voice  trailed  off  to  nothingness.  Until  now  he 
had  not  recognised  Jeff's  adversary. 

"Who  you  talkin'  to,  Mistah  Monkey 
Clothes?" 

Smooth  swung  on  the  officer,  ready  in  his 
present  state  of  feeling  to  carve  up  one  or  a 
dozen.  An  ingratiating  smile  split  the  nervous 
countenance  of  the  Most  High  Grand  Outer 
Guardian.  Than  to  be  flirting  with  disaster 
nothing  was  farther  from  his  desires. 

"Scuse  me,  Mistah  Crumbaugh.  I  didn't 
know  'twuz  you.  I  begs  yore  pardon!"  he 
stated  hastily.  "Please,  ef  you  don't  mind,  I'll 
settle  dis  matter  fur  you." 

He  swung  round  on  Jeff,  who  was  making 
himself  smaller  by  the  second. 

"Whut  you  mean,"  he  demanded,  "per- 
vokin'  Mistah  Crumbaugh  twell  he's  jes'  about 
to  lose  his  temper?  Ef  yore  presence  yere  irri 
tates  him,  w'j-  don't  you  go  on  'way,  lak  a  gen- 
'leman?  ...  Lis'en  to  dat!  Don't  you 
see  you's  'bout  to  break  up  de  programme?" 

From  the  rows  of  seats  nearest  them  came 
indignant  Sh-h-hs!  Jeff's  popped  eyes,  glaring 
about  him,  read  in  all  visible  looks  only  intense 
disapproval  of  him.  It  was  not  healthy  to  hold 
Smooth  Crumbaugh  responsible  for  the  inter 
ruption;  but  poor  Jeff  stood  in  quite  a  different 

attitude  with  the  assemblage. 

[239] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

He  shrank  away,  pawing  out  behind  him 
with  both  hands  for  the  door.  Partly  mollified, 
but  still  growling,  Smooth  started  to  return  to 
his  seat,  all  in  his  way  making  a  clear  path  for 
him.  Jeff  vanished  through  the  opening  like  a 
scared  chipmunk. 

The  Reverend  Grasty  had  not  been  discom 
moded  by  the  disturbance  in  the  rear.  He  was 
getting  louder  every  minute.  So  was  Sister 
Shackleford. 

Outside  on  the  landing,  Jeff  breathed  again 
and  paused  to  master  a  trembling  tendency  as 
regards  his  legs,  at  the  same  time  telling  him 
self  he  had  not  wanted  to  stay  through  their 
old  watch  party  anyhow.  It  was  a  lie;  but  he 
kept  on  telling  it  to  himself  over  and  over 
again  until  he  almost  believed  it.  With  a  bit 
ter  smile,  reflective  of  the  intense  bitterness  in 
his  heart,  he  looked  backward  at  the  blank 
panels  of  the  door  and  reflected  that,  barring 
one  fascinating  exception,  he  didn't  have  a  real 
friend  in  all  that  multitude. 

Why,  if  they  really  wanted  to  put  somebody 
out,  hadn't  they  clubbed  in  and  put  that  tough 
Smooth  Crumbaugh  out?  Why  hadn't  twen 
ty-five  or  thirty  of  them  formed  a  volunteer 
committee  on  good  order  and  removed  Smooth 
by  force?  He  would  have  been  glad  to  enroll 
as  a  member  of  that  committee — as  the  thir 
tieth  member  and  in  an  advisory  capacity 
purely. 

Oh,  well,  what  was  the  use  of  hanging  round 
[240] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

a  place  where  true  gentility  was  neither  recog 
nised  nor  appreciated?  These  here  Supreme 
Kings  couldn't  possibly  last  much  longer,  any 
way — running  things  the  way  they  did.  He 
might  as  well  go  on  about  his  business.  Re 
luctantly,  making  compromise  with  his  out 
raged  dignity  at  every  step,  and  rent  between 
a  hankering  to  linger  on  and  a  conviction  that 
if  he  did  linger  a  most  evil  thing  surely  would 
befall  him,  Jeff  limped  in  his  creaking  new 
shoes  down  the  empty  stairs,  descending  yard 
by  yard  into  a  Slough  of  Despond. 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  stopped  again, 
fumbling  in  his  pockets.  The  jangled  state  of 
his  nerves  demanded  the  sooth  of  nicotine. 
From  one  pocket  he  exhumed  nearly  half  of  a 
cigar  and  from  the  other  a  box  of  matches.  He 
inserted  the  cigar  between  his  lips  and  under 
took  to  strike  a  light.  These  were  a  new  kind 
of  matches — long,  thick  ones,  with  big  white- 
and-black  heads.  Judge  Priest  had  brought 
home  a  supply  of  them  the  day  before,  and  Jeff, 
attracted  vaguely  by  their  novelty  of  appear 
ance  and  their  augmented  size,  had  been  moved 
to  borrow  a  box  of  them  off  the  dining-room 
sideboard  without  mentioning  the  matter  to 
any  one. 

The  misanthrope  drew  one  of  the  big  matches 
down  the  plastered  side  of  the  entryway. 
It  sputtered  and  snapped  under  the  friction  of 
the  stroke,  but  declined  to  burst  into  flame. 
Jeff  cast  it  away  and  tried  another,  with  no 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

different  result,  except  that  the  stick  part  snap 
ped  off  short.  Either  the  prevalent  dampness 
had  adversely  affected  them  or  they  were  de 
fective  and  untrustworthy  by  reason  of  some 
flaw  in  their  manufacture.  But  he  noted  that 
both  matches  had  left  queer  luminous  streaks 
upon  the  dingy  wall. 

Morbidly  reflecting  that  in  this  night  of  his 
bad  luck  he  was  to  be  denied  even  the  small 
solace  of  a  smoke,  Jeff  absently  fingered  a  third 
match  between  his  fingers,  plucking  at  its  bulb 
ous  tip  with  a  thumb  nail.  Instantly  the  effect 
of  this  was  such  as  mildly  to  startle  him;  for  at 
once  on  his  finger  ends  appeared  a  strange  spec 
tral  glow,  as  though  he  had  been  fondling  some 
new  and  especially  well-illuminated  breed  of 
lightning  bug  in  his  naked  hand. 

At  any  other  time,  almost,  this  phenomenon, 
so  simply  accomplished,  would  have  set  Jeff's 
nimble  fancy  at  work  devising  experimental 
means  of  entertainment  to  be  derived  there 
from;  but  now  and  here,  in  his  existent  frame 
of  thought,  the  discovery  gave  him  no  pleasure 
whatsoever. 

He  pouched  cigar  butt  and  matches,  and 
stepped  forth  from  the  stair  passage  into  the 
drizzle.  Out  of  the  darkness  a  figure  reeled  un 
steadily.  It  bumped  into  him  with  such  vio 
lence  as  to  drive  him  back  into  the  doorway, 
and  then  caromed  off,  rocking  on  its  heels  to 
regain  its  balance.  Jeff  made  out  that  the  awk- 
ward  one  was  a  person  of  his  own  colour  and  sex. 
[  242  ] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

"Whut's  ailin'  you,  man?"  he  demanded  ir 
ritably.  "Ain't  a  whole  sidewalk  wide  'miff  fur 
you,  widout  you  tryin'  to  knock  folkses  down?" 

"Huh?" 

The  wavering  pedestrian  exhaled  a  thick 
grunt,  which  brought  with  it  an  aroma  of  stick 
gin.  He  tottered  forward  again,  throwing  out 
his  clutching  hands  for  some  support. 

"Go  on  'way  frum  me!" 

Jeff  flung  out  an  arm  to  fend  the  other  off; 
but  the  gesture  froze  solid  while  yet  his  elbow 
was  crooked,  and  Jeff  cowered  back,  transfixed 
and  limber  with  terror,  too  scared  to  run,  too 
weak  to  cry  out. 

For  there,  centred  in  the  dim  half-light  that 
streamed  down  from  above,  swaying  on  his  legs 
and  dripping  moisture,  as  befitting  one  who 
had  but  lately  met  a  watery  end,  stood  the 
mortal  remains  of  the  late  unlamented — whom 
even  now  they  were  most  unkindly  commemo 
rating  upstairs — Red  Hoss  Shackleford,  de 
ceased.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Red 
Hoss?  embodied  spirit,  with  the  restless  malig 
nity  of  a  soul  accursed,  had  come  back  to  at 
tend  its  own  memorial  service! 

Jeff's  jaws  opened  and  refused  to  close.  His 
throat  locked  on  a  howl,  and  that  howl  emerged 
as  a  thin,  faint  wheeze.  The  filling  inside  his 
knee  joints  turned  to  a  marrowy  jelly.  His 
scalp  crawled  on  his  skull. 

The  ghost  grabbed  him  in  a  fumbling  em 
brace;  and  even  as  Jeff,  in  an  intensified  spasm 
[243] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

of  terror,  wrestled  to  be  free  of  that  awful 
clutch,  he  realised  that  this  ghost  was  entirely 
too  solid  for  a  regular  ghost.  Besides,  there 
was  that  smell  of  gin.  Ghosts  did  not  drink — 
or  did  they?  He  found  his  voice — part  of  it. 

"Shacky,  ain't  you  daid?"  he  pleaded  in 
croaking  accents.  "Fur  Gawd's  sake,  tell  me 
de  truth — ain't  you  sho-'nuff  daid?" 

"Who  say  I'm  daid?"  demanded  Red  Hoss 
with  maudlin  truculence.  Then  instantly  his 
tone  became  plaintive :  "  How  come  ever'whars 
I  goes  to-night  dey  axes  me  is  I  daid?  Does  I 
look  daid?  Does  I  act  daid?" 

"Wait  a  minute,  Shacky — lemme  think." 
And  now  Jeff,  well  recovered,  was  holding  the 
ex-apparition  upright.  "You  sorter  taken  me 
by  s'prise;  but  lemme  think." 

Already,  as  his  self-possession  came  back  to 
him,  the  germ  of  a  splendid,  dazzling  idea  took 
root  and  sprouted  in  his  brain. 

Still  supporting  the  burden  of  the  miracu 
lously  restored  Red  Hoss,  he  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  up  the  hallway.  There  was  no  one 
visible;  none  other  shared  this  marvellous  se 
cret  with  him.  As  quickly  as  might  be,  he 
guided  the  uncertain  form  of  Red  Hoss  away 
from  the  doorway  and  round  the  corner  into 
the  black  shadows  at  the  side  of  the  building, 
where  rain  dripped  on  them  from  the  eaves  above. 

That  made  no  difference.  Red  Hoss  was  wet 
through,  and  in  this  moment  any  slight  dam- 
age  from  dampness  to  his  own  vanities  of 
[244] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

wardrobe  meant  nothing  at  all  to  Jeff.  He 
propped  Red  Hoss  against  the  brick  wall  and 
steadied  him  there.  And  when  he  spoke,  he 
spoke  low;  but,  also,  he  spoke  fast.  Time  was 
a  precious  commodity  right  now. 

"Red  Hoss,"  he  said,  "I's  yore  friend,  ez 
you  knows  full  well.  Now  tell  me:  How  come 
you  didn't  git  drownded  in  de  river?" 

"Me?  Huh!  Dey  ain't  nary  river  ever 
been  dug  deep  'nuff  to  drownd  me  in,"  Red 
Hoss  was  replying  with  drunken  boastfulness. 
"Here's  de  way  'twuz:  Come  de  night  after 
C'ris'mus,  I  finds  myse'f  a  little  bit  overtuck 
wid  licker.  So  I  lays  down  on  de  b'iler  deck  of 
dat  dere  tugboat,  takin'  a  little  nap.  I  reckin 
I  must  'a'  roll  over  in  my  sleep,  'ca'se  all  of  a 
sudden  I  'scovers  myse'f  in  de  middle  of  dat 
ole  Tennessee  River;  an'  dat  tugboat,  she's 
agoin'  'long  upstream  same  ez  ef  de  w'ite  folks 
is  sayin'  to  deyse'ves:  'Well,  one  nigger  mo' 
or  less  don't  make  no  diff'ence  in  good  times 
lak  dese.' 

"I  treads  water  an'  I  yells;  but  she  keep 
right  on  movin'.  So  den  I  jes'  swims  an' 
swims,  an'  swims  some  mo';  an'  dat  river  sut- 
tinly  is  cold  to  my  skin.  After  a  spell  I  lands 
ashore  whar  dey's  some  thick-kinder  woods; 
an'  I  walks  back  an'  fo'th  th'ough  dem  woods, 
tryin'  to  keep  frum  freezin'  to  death. 

"Long  'bout  daylight  I  comes  to  a  tie  camp 
whar  two  w'ite  men  is  got  a  gang  of  niggers  git- 
tin'  out  crossties,  an'  I  yells  an'  knocks  on  de 
[245] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

do'  of  de  shack  twell  I  rousts  'em  all  up.  Dey 
lemme  in;  an'  dey  ax  me  a  whole  passel  of  fool 
questions  'bout  whar'bouts  is  I  come  frum,  an' 
whut  is  I  doin'  dar,  an'  dey  kindle  up  a  big  fire 
an'  I  dries  myse'f  out;  an'  den  bimeby  dey  feeds 
me  a  meal  of  vittles.  Wen  I  gits  ready  to  start 
frum  dar,  'long  about  de  middle  of  de  day,  one 
of  de  w'ite  men  gives  me  six  bits  to  pay  mj  way 
back  yere  on  de  railroad. 

"But  jes'  after  I  leaves  de  camp  to  walk  to 
de  railroad,  w'ich  is  eight  miles  'way,  I  runs 
into  a  bunch  of  de  hands,  hid  out  in  de  woods 
a  little  piece,  shootin'  craps;  an'  I  stops.  So 
presently  my  six  bits  is  gone.  So  den  I  goes 
on  to  de  railroad  afoot;  an',  not  havin'  no  money 
nor  nothin',  I  has  to  beat  my  way  home.  I 
rides  on  de  brake  beams  a  spell,  an'  den  de 
brakeman  he  spies  me;  an'  he  th'ows  me  off; 
and  de  las'  eighteen  miles  I  has  to  walk  all  de 
way — an'  hit  a-rainin'!" 

"Wen  did  you  git  yere?  I  means  w'en  did 
you  hit  town?" 

"'Bout  a  hour  ago — or  mebbe  *twuz  a  hour 
an'  a  half." 

With  usage,  Red  Hoss'  powers  for  coherent 
speech  were  improving. 

"So,  fust  off,  I  goes  down  to  de  river  whar 
dat  tugboat  is  tied  up  to  see  whut  chance  dey 
is,  dat  time  of  night,  of  my  drawin'  whut 
money  is  comin'  to  me.  But  de  cabin  is  all 
dark  an'  t'ain't  nobody  aboard  her  'cep'in'  de 
nigger  night  watchman;  an'  he's  settin'  down 
[246] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

back  in  de  ingine  room,  sound  asleep.  I  walks 
back  to  whar  he  is  an'  I  says  to  him,  I  says: 
'Hello,  nigger!' — jes'  lak  dat.  An'  he  open  his 
eyes  an'  gimme  jes'  one  look;  an'  den  he  give 
out  one  yell,  an'  den  he  ain't  dere  no  mo'.  I 
kin  heah  his  footsteps  goin'  up  de  levee,  scat- 
terin'  gravels  lak  a  ole  hen  scratching  but  dat 
nigger  is  plum'  gone.  He  act  lak  he  seen  a 
ha'nt,  or  some  thin'. 

"So  den,  de  nex'  thing  I  does,  I  goes  up  de 
wharf  to  de  house  whar  my  ha'f  sister,  Rosalie 
— you  knows  dat  'ooman? — does  cookin'  fur  a 
w'ite  fambly;  an'  I  goes  round  de  house  an' 
knocks  at  de  kitchen  do',  but  t'ain't  nobody 
answers.  I  keeps  on  knockin',  an'  after  a  spell 
de  boss  of  de  house,  a  w'ite  man,  name  of  Fut- 
rell,  he  come  out  on  de  back  po'ch  in  his  night- 
clo'es,  wid  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  an'  he  suttinly 
do  act  'stonished  to  see  me  standin'  dar;  an'  he 
ax  me  p'intedly  ain't  I  drownded;  an'  I  tells 
him  No,  suh;  suttinly  I  ain't  drownded!  An' 
I  ax  him  whar  is  Rosalie.  An'  he  say,  ef  she 
ain't  in  her  cabin  in  de  yard,  he  reckon  she 
must  'a'  come  on  up  yere  to  dis  yere  hall  fur 
some  kind  of  nigger  doin's.  Dat's  de  fust  I 
knows  'bout  her  livin'  on  de  Futrell  place. 

"So  I  goes  out  to  de  cabin  in  de  yard;  but 
she  done  gone,  leavin'  de  do'  unlocked  an'  on 
de  jar.  So  I  goes  in  an'  meks  a  light  an'  looks 
'bout  me;  an'  I  finds  sixty  cents  under  a  mat  on 
de  washstand,  w'ich  on  my  way  yere  I  spends 
dat  sixty  cents  fur  gin  at  de  Bleedin'  Heart  Sa- 
[  247  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

loon,  'ca'se  Fs  wet  to  de  skin,  ez  you  kin  see 
fur  yo'se'f.  An'  so  den  I  meks  my  way  to  dis 
hall,  'ca'se  I  p'intedly  does  aim  to  drag  dat 
dere  'ooman  out  an'  ax  her  whut  put  it  into  her 
fool  haid  to  go  all  round  town  tellin'  folkses  I's 
drownded  w'en  she  know,  her  ownse'f ,  dey  ain't 
nary  river  ever  been  dug  deep  'nuff  to  drownd 
me  in." 

His  voice  became  complaining  now,  rather 
than  indignant: 

"Fur  de  las'  ha'f  hour,  mo'  or  less,  I  been 
tryin'  to  git  up  dem  stepses.  But  seem  lak 
dem  stepses  is  a  heap  mo'  steeper'n  whut  dey 
used  to  be.  Whut  mek  'em  steepen  dem  stepses 
fur,  Jeff?" 

A  sudden  drowsiness  overcame  the  narrator 
and  he  sought  to  slump  down  against  the  wall. 
But  Jeff  upheld  him,  against  his  will;  and  a 
minute  later  Jeff's  words  had  roused  him  out 
of  his  gin-born  daze: 

"Lis'en  to  me,  Red  Hoss;  lis'en!  I  jes'  come 
down  frum  up  dere.  I  come  away;  'ca'se  I's 
yore  friend,  an'  I  jes'  natchelly  couldn't  bear 
to  set  dere  no  longer  an'  heah  'em  scandalise 
you  de  way  dey's  doin'." 

* 'Scandalise  me!    Who's  scandalisin'  me?" 

"Everybody  is;  but  specially  de  pastor  of  de 
Fust  Ward  Church — yas,  suh;  he's  de  main 
scandaliser.  An'  dat  sister  of  your'n,  she's 
settin'  there  harkin'  to  him,  same  ez  ef  he  wuz 
tellin'  her  some  good  news." 

"Lemme  go!     Lemme  go!     I  lay  I'll  learn 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

dem  niggers  to  be  'stroyin'  my  good  name  be- 
hine  my  back!" 

The  victim  of  calumny,  all  wide-awake  now, 
wrestled  to  be  free  of  the  detaining  hands. 
After  a  little,  though,  he  suffered  his  form  to 
relax  and  his  struggles  to  abate  as  Jeff  poured 
agreeable  advice  upon  him. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Shacky — jes'  wait  a  min 
ute!  I  got  a  better  scheme  'n  whut  dat  one  is. 
'Sides,  you  couldn't  git  past  de  do' — whole 
place  up  dere  is  jest  jammed  an'  blocked  off 
wid  people.  Come  on  now  wid  me.  We'll  go 
in  by  de  back  way,  whar  de  stepses  ain't  so 
steep  ez  dey  is  round  yere  in  front.  You  an' 
me'll  go  up  dat  way,  tippytoe,  so  ez  not  to 
mek  no  noise;  and  we'll  wait  in  dat  little  hall 
behine  de  flatform — you  knows  de  hall  I  means 
— de  one  whar  dey  perpares  de  candidates  fur 
'nitiation?" 

Red  Hoss  nodded. 

"I  knows  it  full  well.  Been  dere  oncet.  And 
den  whut?"  he  inquired. 

"Den  we'll  wait  twell  dey  turns  de  lights 
out;  dey's  aimin'  to  turn  'em  out  in  a  mighty 
few  minutes  to  welcome  in  de  New  Yeah  in  de 
darkness.  An'  jes'  w'en  dey  does  dat  I'll  open 
de  do',  an'  you  step  out  on  de  flatform  an'  say: 
'Heah  I  is!'  At  dat  I'll  switch  on  de  lights 
right  quick;  an'  den — don't  you  see? — you'll  be 
standin'  right  dere  in  full  view,  up  on  de  flat- 
form,  whar  you  kin  tell  dat  preacher  whut  you 
thinks  of  him." 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"I  ain't  'lowin'  to  tell  him  nothin'— I  'low 
to  jes'  haul  off  an5  bust  him  one,  an*  peel  his 
nappy  haid  fur  him!"  avowed  Red  Hoss. 

"Suit  yo'se'f  about  dat,"  conceded  Jeff;  "but 
how  do  de  res'  of  de  plan  seem  to  strike  you?" 

"You's  my  friend — seem  lak  you's  de  onlies' 
friend  whut  I  got  lef  in  de  world,"  stated  Red 
Hoss.  "An'  so  I  does  lak  you  says — up  to  a 
suttin  point;  but  frum  den  on  I's  gwine  cut 
loose  an'  be  rough.  Come  on,  Jeff!  Show  me 
de  way!  Dat's  all  I  axes  you — jes'  show  me 
de  way!" 

"Hole  still  a  minute — we  got  time  yit  to 
spare,"  counselled  Jeff;  on  top  of  his  first  in 
spiration  a  second  one  had  burgeoned  forth. 
"Fust  off,  lemme  wipe  de  rain  an'  de  cinders 
off  en  you — yore  face  is  powerful  dirty." 

Obediently  Red  Hoss  offered  his  features  for 
renovation.  From  his  pocket  Jeff  hauled  out  a 
handkerchief;  hauled  something  else  out,  too — 
only  Red  Hoss  didn't  see  that.  He  made  pre 
tense  of  wrapping  a  forefinger  in  the  handker 
chief;  but  it  was  not  a  finger  tip  that  carefully 
encircled  both  of  Red  Hoss'  blinking  eyes,  press 
ing  firmly  against  the  moist  black  flesh,  and 
then  outlined  his  nose  and  passed  in  rings 
round  his  mouth,  above  the  upper  lip  and  be 
low  the  lower  one. 

"Hole  up!"  protested  Red  Hoss.  "You's 
rubbin'  too  hard.  Yore  finger  nail  hurts  me." 

"Stay  still!"  urged  Jeff.    "I's  'most  th'ough." 

Craftily,  with  a  fresh  match,  he  touched  the 
[  250  ] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

outer  and  the  inner  corners  of  Red  Hoss'  eyes 
and  the  lobes  of  his  ears;  and  then  he  drew  oft, 
almost  appalled  himself  by  the  ghastliness  of 
his  own  handicraft,  as  revealed  in  the  dark. 

"Come  along,  Red  Hoss.  An'  don't  furgit 
whut  you's  goin'  to  say  w'en  I  opens  de  hall 
do'  fur  you." 

"Ain't  furgittin'  nothin',"  promised  Red 
Hoss. 

Their  two  figures,  closely  interwoven — one 
steering  and  supporting;  the  other  being  steered 
and  being  supported — passed  in  the  murk 
round  the  back  corner  of  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,  to 
bring  up  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of  rough  wooden 
stairs,  built  on  against  the  wall  for  added  pro 
tection  and  as  an  added  means  of  exit  from  the 
upper  floor  in  case  of  fire,  fight  or  flight.  Here 
the  hardest  part  of  Jeff's  job  began.  He  had 
to  boost  Red  Hoss  up,  step  by  step. 

Above,  the  most  successful  watch  party  ever 
conducted  under  the  auspices  of  the  Supreme 
Kings  of  the  Universe  had  progressed  almost  to 
its  apogee.  It  was  now  six  minutes  before  the 
hour  when,  according  to  no  less  an  authority 
than  the  late  Bard  of  Avon,  churchyards  yawn 
and  graves  give  up  their  sheeted  dead.  The 
principal  orator,  with  his  high  collar  quite  wilt 
ed  down  and  his  face,  behind  his  spectacles, 
slick  and  shiny  with  sweat,  reached  his  conclu 
sion,  following  a  burst  of  eloquence  so  power- 
ful  that  his  hearers  almost  could  hear  the 
[251] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Tophet  fires  crackling  beneath  their  tingling 
feet. 

"An*  now,  my  dearly  beloved  sistern  an' 
brethern,"  he  proclaimed,  in  a  short  perora 
tion  to  his  longer  one — "an5  now  I  commands 
you  to  think  on  the  fix  this  pore  transgressor 
must  be  in  at  this  very  minute,  cut  off  ez  he 
wuz  in  the  midst  of  his  sins  an'  his  shorlcom- 
in'ses.  Think  on  yore  own  sins  an'  yore  own 
shortcomin'ses.  Think,  an' think  hard !  Think, 
an'  think  copious!" 

His  voice  swung  downward  to  the  more  sub 
dued  cadence  of  the  semiconversational  tone: 

"The  hour  of  midnight  is  'most  at  hand.  In 
acco'dance  wid  the  programme  I  shell  now  turn 
off  the  lights,  an'  this  gatherin'  will  set  in  the 
solemn  communion  of  darkness  fur  five  min 
utes,  till  the  New  Yeah  comes." 

He  stepped  three  paces  backward  and  turned 
a  plug  set  in  the  wall  close  to  the  doorjam. 
All  over  the  hall  the  bulbs  winked  out.  Noth 
ing  was  to  be  seen,  and  for  a  few  seconds  noth 
ing  was  heard  except  the  sound  of  the  minis 
ter's  shuffling  movements  as  he  felt  his  way 
back  to  his  place  at  the  front  of  the  platform, 
and,  below  him,  in  the  body  of  the  hall,  the 
nervous  rustle  of  many  swaying  bodies  and  of 
twice  as  many  scuffling  feet. 

On  the  far  side  of  the  closed  rear  door 
crouched  Jeff,  breathless  from  his  recent  exer 
tions,  panting  whispered  admonitions  in  the 
ear  of  his  co-conspirator.  Red  Hoss  was  im- 
[  252  ] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

patient  to  lunge  forward.  He  wanted  to  surge 
in  right  now.  But  Jeff  held  fast  to  him.  Jeff 
could  sense  a  psychological  moment,  even  if  he 
could  not  pronounce  one. 

"Wait  jes'  one  secont  mo' — please,  Red 
Hoss!"  he  entreated.  "Wait  twell  I  opens  dis 
yere  do*  fur  you.  Den  you  bulge  right  in  an' 
speak  up  de  words  'Here  I  is!'  loud  an'  clear. 
You  won't  furgit  dat  part,  will  you?" 

"'On't  furgit  nothin'!"  muttered  Red  Hoss. 
"Jes'  watch  my  smoke — dat's  all!" 

With  his  ear  against  a  thin  panel,  Jeff  lis 
tened;  listened — and  smiled.  Through  the  bar 
rier  he  heard  the  preacher's  voice  saying: 

"All  present  will  now  unite  in  singin'  the 
hymn  w'ich  begins:  Hark!  From  the  Tombs 
aDolefulSoun'!" 

Softly,  oh,  so  softly,  Jeff's  fingers  turned  the 
doorknob;  gently,  very  gently,  he  drew  the 
door  itself  half  open;  with  the  whispered  ad 
monition  "Now,  boy,  now!"  he  swiftly  but  si 
lently  propelled  Red  Hoss,  face  forward,  through 
the  opening. 

The  Reverend  Grasty  stood  waiting  for  the 
first  words  of  the  hymn  to  uprise  from  below 
him  in  a  mighty  swing.  But  from  that  unseen 
gathering  down  in  front  a  very  different  sound 
came — a  sound  that  was  part  a  gasp  of  stupe 
faction,  part  a  groan  of  abject  distress.  For  the 
rest  saw  what  the  minister,  as  yet,  did  not  see, 
by  reason  of  his  back  being  to  the  wall,  where- 
as  they  faced  it.  They  saw,  floating  against  a 
[253] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

background  of  black  nothingness,  a  face  limned 
in  wavering  pulsing  lines  of  a  most  ghastly  witch 
fire — nose  and  brow  and  chin  and  ears,  wide 
mouth  and  glaring  eyes,  all  wreathed  about  by 
that  unearthly  graveyard  glow. 

In  that  same  flash  of  space  Jeff  Poindexter's 
hand  had  found  the  switch,  set  in  the  wall  hard 
by  the  door  casing,  and  had  flipped  the  lights 
on.  And  now  before  them  they  beheld  the 
form  of  the  late  Red  Hoss  Shackleford,  his  face 
seamed  with  livid  greyish  streaks,  his  garments 
all  adrip,  his  arms  outspread,  his  eyes  like  balls 
of  flame,  and  his  lips  agleam  with  a  palish 
blush,  as  though  he  had  hither  come  direct 
from  feasting  on  the  hot  coals  of  Perdition, 
without  stopping  to  wipe  his  mouth.  And  then 
he  opened  that  fearsome  scupper  of  a  mouth, 
and  in  a  voice  thickened  and  muddy — the 
proper  voice  for  one  who  had  lain  for  days  in 
river  ooze — he  spoke  the  words: 

"Here  I  is!"  That  was  all  he  said.  But 
that  was  enough. 

It  is  believed  that  the  Reverend  Grasty  was 
the  first  to  move.  Naturally  he  would  be 
among  the  first,  anyhow,  he  being  the  nearest 
of  all  to  the  risen  form  of  the  dead.  He  spread 
himself  like  an  eagle  and  soared  away  from 
there;  and  when  he  lit,  he  lit  a-running.  In 
deed,  so  high  did  he  jump  and  so  far  outward 
that,  though  he  started  with  a  handicap,  few 
there  were  who  beat  him  in  the  race  to  the 
door. 

"    f  254  ]      ~ 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

Smooth  Crumbaugh  was  one  who  beat  him. 
Smooth  feared  neither  man  nor  beast  nor  devil; 
but  ha'nts  were  something  else!  He  took  a  fly 
ing  start,  spurning  the  floor  as  he  rose  up  over 
chairs  and  their  recent  occupants.  Without 
checking  speed,  he  clove  a  path  straight  through 
the  centre  of  Sister  Eldora  Menifee's  refresh 
ment  department;  and  on  the  stairway,  going 
down,  he  passed  the  Most  High  Grand  Outer 
Guardian  as  though  the  Most  High  Grand  Out 
er  Guardian  had  been  standing  still. 

It  was  after  he  struck  the  sidewalk,  though, 
and  felt  the  solid  bricks  beneath  his  winged  feet, 
that  Smooth  really  started  to  move  along.  For 
some  ten  furlongs  he  had  strong  competition, 
but  he  was  leading  by  several  lengths  when  he 
crossed  Yazoo  Street,  eight  blocks  away,  with 
the  field  tailing  out  behind  him  for  a  matter  of 
half  a  mile  or  so. 

I  might  add  that  Sister  Rosalie  Shackleford, 
hampered  though  she  was  by  skirts  and  the 
trappings  of  woe,  nevertheless  finished  inside 
the  money  herself. 

Jefferson  Poindexter,  calm,  smiling  and  deb 
onair,  picked  his  way  daintily  among  over 
thrown  chairs  and  through  a  litter  of  hats,  hel 
mets,  umbrellas  and  swords  across  the  hall  to 
Ophelia,  who,  helpless  with  shock,  was  plas 
tered,  prone  and  flat  on  the  floor,  close  up 
against  the  side  wall,  where  Smooth  had  flung 
her  as  he  launched  himself  in  flight. 
[255] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

Right  gallantly  Jeff  raised  her  to  her  feet 
and  supported  her;  and  right  mainfully  she 
clung  to  him,  inclosing  herself,  all  distracted 
and  aquiver,  within  the  circle  of  his  comfort 
ing  arms.  Already  they  were  almost  alone  and 
within  a  space  of  moments  would  be  entirely 
so,  except  for  one  fat  auntie,  lying  in  a  dead 
faint  under  the  wrecked  snack  stand. 

Also  there  still  remained  Red  Hoss  Shackle- 
ford,  who  wavered  to  and  fro  upon  the  plat 
form,  with  a  hand  to  his  bewildered  brow,  try 
ing  foggily  to  figure  out  just  how  he  had  been 
thwarted  of  his  just  retribution  upon  the  per 
sons  of  those  vanished  arch-detractors  of  him. 
He  had  had  his  revenge — had  it  sugar-sweet 
and  brimming  over — only  he  didn't  know  it  yet. 

"Oh,  Jeffy,"  gasped  Ophelia,  "wuzn't  you 
skeered  too?" 

"Who — me?"  proclaimed  Jeff.  "Me  skeered 
of  a  wet  nigger,  full  of  stick  gin?  Fair  lady, 
mebbe  I  don't  keer  so  much  fur  gittin'  my 
clothes  all  mussed  up  fightin'  wid  bully  nig 
gers,  but  I  ain't  never  run  frum  no  ghostes  yit; 
an'  I  don't  never  aim  to,  neither — not  'thout 
waitin'  round  long  'nuff  to  find  out  fust  w'ether 
hit's  a  real  ghost  or  not.  Dat's  me!" 

"Oh,  Jeffy,  you  suttinly  is  de  bravest  man  I 
knows!"  she  answered  back  in  muffled  tones, 
with  her  head  on  his  white  waistcoat. 

At  this  moment  precisely  the  town  clock 
sounded  the  first  stroke  of  twelve,  and  all  the 
steam  whistles  in  town  let  go,  blasting  out 

[256] 


HARK!    FROM    THE    TOMBS 

shrilly;  and  all  the  giant  firecrackers  in  town 
began  bursting  in  loud  acclaim  of  the  New 
Year.  But  what  the  triumphant,  proud,  con 
quering  Jeff  heard  was  his  Ophelia,  speaking  to 
him  soul  to  soul. 


[257] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CINNAMON    SEED    AND 
SANDY    BOTTOM 


MAJOR  PUTNAM  STONE  is  dead, 
but  his  soul  goes  marching  on. 
Mainly  it  does  its  marching  on  at 
Midsylvania  University.  Every  fall, 
down  yonder,  on  the  night  of  the  day  of  the  last 
game  of  the  season,  when  the  squad  has  broken 
training  and  many  of  the  statutes  touching  on 
the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  community,  there  is 
a  dinner.  At  the  end  of  this  dinner  the  captain 
of  the  team  stands  up  at  one  end  of  the  table 
and  chants  out:  "Cinnamon  Seed  and  Sandy 
Bottom!" — just  like  that.  Whereupon  there 
are  loud  cheers.  And  then,  at  the  far  end  of 
the  table  from  him,  the  chairman  of  the  ath 
letic  community  stands  up  in  his  place  and  lifts 
his  mug  and  says,  in  the  midst  of  a  little  silence: 
"To  the  memory  of  Major  Putnam  Stone!" 
Then  everybody  rises  and  drinks;  and  there  are 
no  heel-taps. 

This  ceremony  is  never  omitted.    It  is  a  tra- 
dition;  and  they  go  in  rather  strongly  for  tradi- 
[258] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


tions  at  Midsylvania,  and  always  have  since 
the  days  when  there  was  not  much  else  to  Mid 
sylvania  except  its  traditions.  The  team  may 
have  won  that  afternoon,  or  it  may  have  lost. 
The  boys  may  be  jubilating  for  the  biggest  vic 
tory  of  the  whole  year,  or,  over  the  trenches 
and  the  tankards,  consoling  themselves  and  one 
another  for  an  honourable  defeat  at  the  hands 
of  their  classic  rival,  Vanderbeck.  It  makes  no 
difference.  Win  or  lose,  they  toast  the  shade 
and  the  name  of  Major  Stone. 

So  there  is  no  danger  that  the  Major  will  be 
forgotten  at  the  University,  any  more  than 
there  is  danger  of  such  a  thing  coming  to  pass 
in  the  Evening  Press  shop  where  the  Major  used 
to  work.  Most  of  the  old  hands  who  worked 
there  with  him  once  upon  a  time  are  gone  else 
where  now.  One  or  two  or  three  are  dead  and 
the  rest  of  us,  with  few  exceptions,  have  scat 
tered  over  the  country.  But  among  the  men 
who  are  our  successors  on  the  staff  the  spirit  of 
the  old  man  walks,  and  there  is  a  tale  of  him 
to  be  told  to  each  beginner  who  comes  on  the 
paper.  It  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  history  of 
the  city  room  as  the  great  stories  that  Ike  Webb, 
who  was  our  star  man,  wrote  back  in  those  lat 
ter  nineties;  as  much  a  part  as  the  sayings  and 
the  doings  of  little  Pinky  Gilfoil,  who  passed 
out  last  year,  serving  with  the  American  ambu 
lance  corps  over  in  France. 

The  last  time  I  was  down  that  way  I  stopped 
over  between  trains  and  went  around  on  Jeffer- 
[  259  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

son  Street  to  look  the  old  place  over.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon,  after  press  time  for  the 
final  edition,  and  the  day  force  had  all  depart 
ed;  but  out  of  the  press-room  to  greet  me  came 
limping  old  Henry,  the  black  night  watchman, 
who,  according  to  belief,  had  been  a  fixture  of 
the  Evening  Press  since  the  corner  stone  of  the 
building  was  laid. 

"Yassuh,"  said  Henry  to  me  after  this  and 
that  and  the  other  thing  had  been  discussed 
back  and  forth  between  us;  "we  still  talks  a 
mighty  much  about  ole  Majah.  Dis  yere  new 
issue  crop  of  young  w'ite  genelmens  we  got 
workin'  round  yere  now'days  gits  a  chanc't  to 
hear  tell  about  him  frequent  an'  of'en.  They's 
a  picture  of  him  hangin'  upstairs  in  de  big  boss' 
room  on  de  thud  flo'.  Big  boss,  he  sets  a  heap 
of  store  by  'at  air  picture.  An'  they  tells  me  'at 
de  mate  to  it  is  hangin'  up  in  'at  air  new  struc 
ture  w'ich  they  calls  de  Forbes  Memorial,  out 
at  de  Univussity." 

If  my  recollection  serves  me  aright  I  have 
once  or  twice  before  touched  on  sundry  chap 
ters  in  the  life  and  works  of  the  old  Major,  tell 
ing  how,  for  him,  nothing  of  real  consequence 
happened  in  this  world  between  the  surrender 
of  Lee  at  Appomattox  and  the  day,  nearly  forty 
years  later,  when  all  his  tidy  property  was  wiped 
out  in  an  unfortunate  investment,  and  he  moved 
out  of  his  suite  at  the  old  Gault  House  and 
abandoned  his  armchair  in  a  front  window  at 
the  Shawnee  Club,  and,  at  the  age  of  sixty-four 


CINNAMON      SEED 


and  a  salary  of  twelve  dollars  a  week,  took  a 
job  as  cub  reporter  on  the  Evening  Press;  how 
because  he  would  persist  in  gnawing  at  the 
rinds  of  old  yesterdays  instead  of  nosing  into 
the  things  of  the  current  day  he  was  a  most 
utter  and  complete  failure  at  the  job;  how  once 
through  chance,  purely,  he  uncovered  the  whop- 
pingest  scoop  that  a  real  reporter  could  crave 
for  and  then  chucked  it  away  again  to  save  a 
woman  who  by  the  standards  of  all  proper  peo 
ple  wasn't  worth  saving  in  the  first  place;  how 
by  compassion  of  the  owner  of  the  paper  and 
against  the  judgment  of  everybody  else,  he 
hung  on  all  through  the  summer,  a  drag  upon 
the  organization  and  a  clog  on  the  ankle  of  City 
Editor  Wilford  Devore;  how  on  the  opening  day 
of  the  famous  Lyric  Hall  convention  he  finally 
rose  to  an  emergency  that  was  of  his  liking  and 
with  the  persuasive  aid  of  a  brace  of  long-bar 
relled,  ivory-handled  cavalry  revolvers  stam 
peded  the  Stickney  gang,  when  they  tried  by 
force  to  seize  the  party  machinery,  having  first 
put  that  official  bad  man  and  deputy  sub-lead 
er  of  the  opposition,  Mink  Satterlee,  out  of 
business,  by  love-tapping  Mink  upon  his  low 
and  retreating  forehead  with  the  butt  end  of 
one  of  his  shooting  irons;  and  how  then  as  a  re 
ward  therefor,  he  was  made  war-editor  of  the 
sheet,  thereafter  fitting  comfortably  and  snug 
ly  into  a  congenial  berth  especially  devised  and 
created  for  his  occupancy.  All  this  has  else 
where  been  told. 

[  261  ] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

This  present  tale,  which  has  to  do  in  part 
with  the  Major  and  in  part  with  the  student 
body  of  Midsylvania,  dates  from  sometime  af 
ter  the  day  when  he  became  our  war  editor, 
and  was  writing  those  long  and  tiresome  special 
articles  of  his,  dealing  favourably  with  Jack 
son's  Campaign  in  the  Valley,  and  unfavour 
ably  with  Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea. 

Midsylvania,  those  days,  was  a  university 
with  a  long  vista  of  historic  associations  behind 
it  and  a  puny  line  of  endowments  to  go  for 
ward  on;  so  it  went  forward  very  slowly  in 
deed.  To  get  the  most  favourable  perspective 
on  Midsylvania  you  must  needs  look  backward 
into  a  distinguished  but  mouldy  past,  and  con 
sider  the  list  of  dead-and-gone  warriors  and 
statesmen  and  educators  and  clergymen  who 
had  been  graduated  in  the  class  of  '49  or  the 
class  of  '54,  or  some  other  class.  Chief  among 
its  physical  glories  were  a  beech  tree,  under 
which  Daniel  Boone  was  said  to  have  camped 
overnight  once;  an  ancient  chapel  building  of 
red  brick,  with  a  row  of  fat  composition  pillars, 
like  broken  legs  in  plaster  casts,  stretching 
across  its  front  to  uphold  its  squatty  portico; 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  campus,  a  noseless 
statue  of  Henry  Clay. 

Sons  of  Old  Families  in  the  state  attended  it, 
principally,  I  suppose,  because  their  fathers  be 
fore  them  had  attended  it;  sons  of  new  families 
mostly  went  elsewhere  for  their  education. 
With  justice,  you  might  speak  of  Midsylvania 
[262] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


as  being  conservative,  which  was  true;  but 
when  you  said  that,  you  said  it  all,  and  it  let 
you  out.  There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 

If  poor  shabby  old  Midsylvania  lagged  be 
hind  sundry  of  her  sister  schools  in  the  matter 
of  equipment,  most  certainly  and  most  woeful 
ly  did  she  lag  behind  them  in  the  matter  of  ath 
letics.  In  that  regard,  and  perhaps  other  re 
gards,  she  was  an  Old  Ladies'  Home.  Eight 
governors  of  American  commonwealths,  six  of 
them  dead  and  two  yet  living,  might  be  listed 
on  the  roster  of  her  alumni — and  were;  but  you 
sought  in  vain  there  for  the  name  of  a  great 
pitcher  or  of  a  consistent  winner  of  track  events, 
or  of  a  champion  pole  vaulter.  If  anybody 
mentioned  Midsylvania  in  connection  with  col 
lege  sports,  it  was  to  laugh.  So  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  laughing  one  fall  when,  for  the 
first  time,  she  went  in  for  football.  The  laugh 
ter  continued,  practically  without  abatement, 
through  that  season;  but  early  the  following 
season  it  died  away  altogether,  to  be  succeeded 
by  a  wave  of  astonishment  and  of  reluctantly 
conceded  admiration,  which  ran  from  the  Ohio 
River  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  from  the  At 
lantic  Seaboard  to  the  Mississippi  River.  Other 
football  teams  began  to  respect  Midsylvania's 
football  team.  They  had  to;  she  mauled  it  into 
their  respective  consciousness. 

The  worm  had  turned — and  turned  something 
besides  the  other  cheek,  at  that;  for  in  that  sec- 
ond  year  she  won  her  first  game,  which  was  her 
[263] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

game  with  Exstein  Normal.  Now  Exstein  Nor 
mal  came  up  proudly,  like  an  army  glorious 
with  banners,  and  went  down  abruptly,  like  a 
scuttled  ship:  Score,  thirty-one  to  nothing. 
Following  on  this,  she  beat  Holy  Mount's  team 
of  fiery  Louisiana  Creoles,  with  a  red-headed 
demon  of  a  New  Orleans  Irish  boy  for  their 
captain;  and,  in  succession,  she  took  on  and 
overcame  Cherokee  Tech.,  and  Alabama  State, 
and  Bay  less. 

She  held  to  a  tie  what  was  conceded  to  be 
the  best  team  that  Old  Dominion  had  ever  mus 
tered;  and  Vanderbeck,  the  largest  and,  ath 
letically  considered,  the  strongest  of  them  all, 
bested  her  only  by  the  narrowest  and  closest  of 
margins  on  Vanderbeck's  own  gridiron.  It  was 
one  of  the  upsetting  things  that  never  can  hap 
pen,  but  occasionally  do,  that  Midsylvania 
should  go  straight  through  to  Thanksgiving 
Day  with  a  miraculous  record  of  five  victories, 
one  tie  and  one  defeat  out  of  seven  games 
played,  and  with  not  a  man  in  the  regular  line 
up  seriously  damaged.  And  yet  not  so  miracu 
lous  either  when  you  came  to  cast  up  causes  to 
find  results.  Her  men  had  steam  and  had  speed 
and  had  strategy,  which  meant  team-work;  in 
fact,  they  had  everything.  Heaven  alone  knew 
where,  within  the  space  of  one  year  they  had 
got  it,  but  they  had  it:  that  was  the  main 
point,  the  incontrovertible  detail. 

You  know  the  old  saying:  Home  folks  are 
always  the  last  ones  to  appreciate  us.  More  or 
[  264  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


less  I  think  this  must  have  been  true  of  us  as 
regards  our  own  University's  football  outfit. 
Undoubtedly  a  lot  had  been  written  and  said 
in  cities  farther  south  about  it,  before  the  Eve 
ning  Press  and  the  other  papers  in  town  began 
fully  to  realise  that  Midsylvania  was  putting 
the  town  on  the  football  map.  But  when  we 
did  realise  it  we  gave  her  and  her  team  front 
page  space  and  sporting  page  space,  and  plenty 
of  both.  Before  we  had  been  content  to  be 
stow  upon  her  a  weekly  column  which  one  of 
the  undergraduates  turned  in  at  space  rates, 
and  pretty  poor  space  rates  at  that — depart 
mental  stuff,  mostly  dealing  with  faculty 
changes,  and  Greek  letter  society  doings  and 
campus  gossip  and  such-like.  Now  though  al 
most  anything  that  anybody  on  the  staff  or  off 
of  it  chose  to  grind  out  about  the  boys  who 
wore  the  M  on  their  sweater  breasts  found  a 
warm  welcome  after  it  landed  on  the  City  Edi 
tor's  desk.  Local  pride  in  local  achievement 
had  been  roused  and  if  anybody  knows  of  any 
thing  stronger  than  local  pride  in  a  city  of  ap 
proximately  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  popu 
lation,  please  tell  me  what  it  is.  We  covered 
the  games  that  were  played  at  home  that  year 
as  fully  as  the  limitations  of  a  somewhat  scanty 
staff  permitted,  and  Ike  Webb  was  detailed  to 
travel  with  the  squad  when  it  played  away 
from  home.  He  sent  back  by  telegraph,  re 
gardless  of  expense,  stories  on  the  games  abroad, 
which  were  smeared  all  over  the  sheet  under 
[265] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

spread  heads  and  signed  as  being  "By  Our 
Special  Staff  Correspondent."  They  were  good 
stories — Ike  was  not  addicted  to  writing  bad 
ones,  ever — and  they  made  circulation. 

There  is  no  telling  how  many  letters  from 
subscribers  came  to  the  chief  commending  him 
for  his  journalistic  enterprise.  He  ran  a  good 
many  of  them.  The  paper  rode  with  the  team 
on  the  crest  of  the  popularity  wave.  Trust  De- 
vore  for  that.  He  had  a  sense  for  news-values 
which  compensated  and  more  than  compen 
sated  for  certain  temperamental  shortcomings 
as  exhibited  inside  the  plant. 

One  day  in  the  tail  end  of  November  the  old 
Major  came  stumping  down  the  stairs  from  his 
sanctum — anyhow,  he  always  called  it  his  sanc 
tum — upon  the  top  floor  in  a  little  partitioned- 
off  space  adjoining  the  chief's  office,  where  he 
had  a  desk  of  his  own  and  where  he  did  his 
work.  He  had  a  wad  of  copy  paper  in  his  hand. 
In  dress  and  in  manner  he  was  the  same  old 
Major  that  he  had  been  in  the  flush  times  two 
years  back,  when  he  used  to  come  in  daily,  os 
tensibly  to  get  some  exchanges  but  really  to  sit 
and  sit,  and  bore  everybody  who  would  listen 
with  tiresome  long  accounts  of  things  that  hap 
pened  between  1861  and  1865 — not  the  shabby 
forlorn  figure  he  became  that  first  summer  after 
he  got  his  twelve-dollar-a-week  job — but  his 
former  self,  recreated  all  over  again.  His  full- 
breasted  shirt  of  fine  linen  jutted  out  above  the 
unbuttoned  top  of  his  low  waistcoat  in  pleaty, 
[266] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


white  billows  and  his  loose  black  sailor's  tie 
made  a  big  clump  at  his  throat  where  the  ends 
of  his  Lord  Byron  collar  came  together.  His 
cuffs  almost  covered  his  hands  and  his  longish 
white  hair  was  like  silk  floss  lying  on  his  coat 
collar  behind.  That  little  white  goatee  of  his 
jutted  out  under  his  lower  lip  like  a  tab  of  card 
ed  wool.  Altogether  he  was  the  Major  of  yore, 
rejoicing  sartorially  in  his  present  state  of  com 
parative  prosperity.  The  boys  around  the  shop 
always  said  that  if  the  Major  had  only  ten  dol 
lars  and  fifty  cents  in  the  world  he  would  spend 
five  dollars  of  it  for  his  club  dues  and  five  of  it 
on  his  wardrobe  and  give  the  remaining  fifty 
cents  to  some  beggar.  I  guess  he  would  have,  too. 

He  came  downstairs  this  day  and  walked  up 
to  Devore,  and  laid  down  his  sheaf  of  pages  at 
Devore's  elbow.  "A  special  contribution,  sir," 
he  said  very  ceremoniously. 

Devore  ran  through  the  first  page,  which  was 
covered  with  pencil  marks — the  Major  always 
wrote  his  stuff  out  in  long  hand — and  glanced 
up,  a  little  bit  astonished. 

"Kind  of  out  of  your  usual  line,  isn't  it,  Ma 
jor  Stone?"  he  asked. 

"In  a  measure,  sir — yes,"  stated  the  old  man; 
and  he  rocked  on  his  high  heels  as  though  he 
might  be  nervous  regarding  the  reception  his 
contribution  would  have  in  this  quarter.  "Un 
der  the  circumstances  I  feel  justified  in  a  de 
parture  from  the  material  I  customarily  indite. 

But  if  you  feel " 

[267] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!"  said  Devore,  divining 
what  the  Major  meant  to  say  before  the  Major 
finished  saying  it.  "There's  always  room  for 
good  stuff."  • 

He  laid  the  first  sheet  aside  and  shuffled 
through  the  sheets  under  it,  picking  out  lines 
and  appraising  the  full  purport  of  the  manu 
script,  as  any  skilled  craftsman  of  a  newspaper 
copy  desk  can  do  in  half  the  length  of  time  an 
outsider  would  be  needing  to  make  out  the 
sense  of  it. 

"About  young  Morehead,  eh?  I  didn't  know 
you  knew  him,  Major?" 

"Personally  I  do  not.  But,  in  his  lifetime,  I 
knew  his  gallant  father  well;  in  fact,  intimate 
ly.  For  some  months  we  served  together  on  the 
staff  of  General  Leonidas  Polk.  Accordingly  I 
felt  qualified  by  my  personal  acquaintance  with 
his  family  to  treat  of  the  subject  as  I  have 
treated  it." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Devore  gave  an  involuntary 
smile  quick  burial  in  the  palm  of  his  cupped 
hand.  "And  so  you've  caught  the  fever  too?" 

"Fever,  sir?    What  fever?" 

"I  mean  you've  got  yourself  all  worked  up 
about  football,  the  same  as  everybody  else  in 
town?" 

"Not  at  all,  sir.  Of  the  game  of  football  I 
know  little  or  nothing.  In  my  college  days  we 
concerned  ourselves  in  our  sportive  hours  with 
very  different  pursuits  and  recreations." 

The  Major,  as  we  knew  from  hearing  him  tell 
[268]  ~ 


CINNAMON      SEED 


about  it  a  hundred  times,  had  left  the  Univer 
sity  of  Virginia  in  his  second  year  to  enlist  in 
the  army.  And  we  knew  his  views  on  the  sub 
ject  of  sports.  If  a  young  person  of  the  mascu 
line  gender  could  waltz  with  the  ladies,  and 
ride  a  horse  well  enough  to  follow  the  hounds 
without  falling  off  at  the  jumps,  and  with  a 
shotgun  could  kill  half  the  birds  he  fired  at — 
these,  from  the  Major's  standpoint,  were  ac 
complishments  enough  for  any  Southern  gen 
tleman,  now  that  the  use  of  duelling  pistols  had 
died  out.  We  had  heard  him  say  so,  often. 

"Football,  considered  as  a  game,  does  not 
interest  me,"  he  went  on  now.  "I  have  never 
seen  it  played.  But  on  account  of  Mr.  James 
Payne  Morehead,  Junior,  I  am  interested.  Be 
ing  of  the  strain  of  blood  that  he  is,  I  am  con 
strained  to  believe  he  will  acquit  himself  in  a 
manner  worthy  of  his  ancestry,  wheresoever  he 
may  be  placed.  In  the  article  you  have  there 
before  you  I  have  said  as  much." 

"So  I  notice,"  said  Devore,  keeping  most  of 
the  irony  out  of  his  tone.  "Thank  you,  Major 
—  we'll  stick  the  yarn  in  to  -  morrow."  And 
then,  as  the  old  man  started  out:  "By  the 
way,  Major  Stone,  if  you've  never  seen  a  game 
you  might  enjoy  seeing  the  one  next  Saturday 
— against  Sangamon.  It'll  be  your  last  chance 
this  season.  I'll  save  you  out  a  press  ticket — if 
you  don't  mind  sitting  in  the  newspaper  box 
with  the  boys  that  I'll  have  out  there  covering 

the  story?" 

[269] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  Major  Stone. 
"I  shall  be  pleased  to  avail  myself  of  the  cour 
tesy,  and  nothing  could  afford  me  more  pleasure 
than  to  have  the  company  of  my  youthful  com 
patriots  in  the  field  of  journalistic  endeavour  on 
that  occasion." 

He  talked  like  that.  Talking,  he  made  you 
think  of  the  way  some  people  write  in  their  let 
ters,  not  of  the  way  anybody  else  on  earth  spoke 
in  ordinary  conversation. 

Out  he  went  then,  all  reared  back  and  De- 
vore  read  the  copy  through,  chuckling  to  him 
self.  It  wasn't  a  malicious  chuckle,  though. 
Devore  was  not  likely  to  forget  what  the  Major 
did  for  him  that  day  eighteen  months  before  at 
the  Lyric  Hall  convention  when  Bad  Mink  Sat- 
terlee  tried  to  cave  in  Devore's  skull  with  a  set 
of  brass  knuckles  and  doubtlessly  would  have 
carried  the  undertaking  through  successfully  if 
Major  Stone  hadn't  been  so  swiftly  deft  with 
the  ivory  butt  of  one  of  his  pair  of  cavalry  pis 
tols,  nor  to  forget  how  nasty  he,  as  City  Edi 
tor,  had  been  before  that,  during  all  the  months 
of  the  Major's  apprenticeship  as  a  sixty-four- 
year-old  cub  reporter. 

"Just  like  the  old  codger!"  he  said,  tapping 
the  manuscript  with  his  hand  affectionately. 
"Starts  out  to  write  about  the  kid;  gives  the 
kid  a  couple  of  paragraphs;  and  then  uses  up 
twenty  pages  more  telling  what  great  men  the 
kid's  father  and  grandfather  were.  Here,  you 

fellows,  just  listen  a  minute  to  this." 

[270]  ~  " 


CINNAMON      SEED 


He  read  a  few  sentences  aloud. 

"Get  the  angle,  don't  you?  Major  figures 
that  any  spunk  and  any  sense  the  Morehead 
boy's  got  is  a  heritage  from  his  revered  ances 
tors,  and  that  he'll  just  naturally  have  to  make 
good  because  he  had  'em  for  his  ancestors. 
Well,  at  that,  the  Maje  is  probably  right,  with 
out  realising  it.  I'm  thinking  Captain  James 
Payne  Morehead,  Junior,  and  his  bunch  of  lit 
tle  fair-haired  playmates  are  going  to  need 
something  more  than  they've  got  now  when 
they  go  up  against  that  bunch  of  huskies  from 
Sangamon  next  Saturday.  How  about  it,  eh?" 

We  knew  about  it,  or  at  least  we  thought  we 
knew  about  it,  as  surely  as  anyone  may  know 
in  advance  of  the  accomplished  event.  There 
was  a  note  of  foreboding  in  the  answers  we 
made  to  our  immediate  superior  there  in  the 
city  room.  One  of  the  boys  summed  it  up: 

"'Pride  goeth  before  a  fall,"'  he  said;  "and 
biting  off  more  than  you  can  chaw  is  bad  on 
the  front  teeth  —  provided  the  Midsylvania 
eleven  have  any  front  teeth  left  after  the  San 
gamon  eleven  get  through  toying  with  their 
bright  young  faces  on  Saturday  afternoon." 

Which,  differently  expressed,  perhaps,  was 
the  common  sentiment.  A  chill  of  dread  was 
descending  upon  the  community  at  large;  in 
fact,  had  been  descending  like  a  dark,  dank 
blanket  for  upward  of  a  week  now.  During  the 
first  few  hours  after  the  announcement  came 
out  that  the  team  of  Sangamon  College,  mak- 
[271] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

ing  their  post-season  tour,  would  swing  down 
ward  across  Messrs.  Mason  and  Dixon's  justly 
celebrated  survey  marks  for  the  express  pur 
pose  of  playing  against  Midsylvania,  there  had 
been  a  flare-up  of  jubilation  that  was  state 
wide. 

It  was  no  small  honour  for  victorious  Mid 
sylvania  that  her  football  eleven  should  be  the 
chosen  eleven  below  the  Line  to  meet  these  all- 
conquering  gladiators  from  above  it.  So  every 
body  agreed,  at  the  outset.  But  on  second 
thought,  which  so  often  is  the  better  thought 
of  the  two,  the  opportunity  seemed,  after  all, 
not  so  glorious.  A  hero  may  go  down  leading 
a  forlorn  hope — may  die  holding  a  last  ditch — 
and  posterity  possibly  will  applaud  him;  but 
we  may  safely  figure  that  he  does  not  greatly 
enjoy  himself  while  thus  engaged;  nor  can  his 
friends  and  well-wishers,  looking  on,  be  so  very 
happy,  either,  over  the  dire  and  distressful  out 
come  of  the  sacrificial  deed.  The  nearer  came 
the  day  of  the  game  and  the  more  people  read 
about  the  strength  of  the  invaders,  the  more 
dismal  loomed  the  prospect  for  the  defenders. 

To  begin  with,  Sangamon  was  one  of  the  big 
gest  fresh-water  colleges  on  the  continent,  and 
one  of  the  richest.  Sangamon  had  six  times  as 
many  students  enrolled  as  Midsylvania,  which 
meant,  of  course,  six  times  the  bulk  of  raw  ma 
terial  from  which  to  pick  and  choose  for  her 
team.  Sangamon  had  a  professional  coach,  paid 
trainers  and  paid  rubbers;  and  Sangamon  had 
[  272  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


a  fat  fund  to  support  her  in  her  athletic  en 
deavours. 

Midsylvania,  it  is  almost  needless  to  state, 
had  none  of  these.  Sanganion  had  gone  through 
the  fall,  mopping  up  ambitious  contenders,  east 
and  west,  due  north,  north  by  east,  and  north 
by  west.  Sangamon  had  two  players — not  one, 
but  actually  two — that  the  experts  of  the  New 
York  dailies  had  nominated  for  the  Ail-Ameri 
can — her  fullback,  Vretson,  known  affectionate 
ly  and  familiarly  as  the  Terrible  Swede;  and 
her  star  end,  Fay,  who,  in  full  football  panoply 
of  spiked  shoes  and  padded  knickers,  had,  on 
test,  done  a  hundred  yards  in  twelve  seconds 
flat.  It  isn't  so  very  often  that  the  astigmatic 
Eastern  sharps  can  see  across  the  Appalachians 
when  they  come  to  make  up  the  roster  of  nomi 
nees  for  the  seasonal  hall  of  football  fame. 
This  year,  though,  they  had  looked  as  far  in 
land  as  Sangamon.  At  the  peril  of  a  severe  eye- 
strain  they  had  to,  because  Sangamon  simply 
would  not  be  denied. 

This  was  what  Midsylvania  must  go  up 
against  this  coming  Saturday  afternoon. 
Wherefore  the  apprehension  of  disaster  was  that 
thick  you  could  slice  it  with  a  knife. 

They  played  the  game  out  at  Morehead 
Downs,  where  every  year  the  Derby  was  run. 
Neither  the  baseball  park  nor  the  rutty  com 
mon  at  the  back  of  the  University  campus, 
where  the  Varsity  scrubs  and  regulars  did  their 
[273] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

stint  at  practise,  could  begin  to  hold  the  num 
ber  that  was  due  to  attend  this  game,  decent 
weather  being  vouchsafed.  So  Morehead 
Downs  it  was,  with  the  lines  blocked  out  in  the 
turf  on  the  inner  side  of  the  white  fence  that 
bounded  the  track,  a  little  way  up  the  home 
stretch,  so  that  the  judges'  stand  should  not 
cut  off  the  view  of  any  considerable  number  of 
the  spectators  sitting  across  in  the  grand  stand. 

For  the  newspaper  fellows  they  rigged  up  el- 
bowroom  accommodations  of  bench  and  table 
against  the  base  of  the  judges'  kiosk.  There  we 
sat — Ike  Webb  and  the  Major  and  Gil  Boyd, 
who  was  our  sporting  editor,  and  myself,  all  in 
a  row — and  there  we  had  been  sitting  for  near 
ly  an  hour  before  the  time  for  starting.  Ike 
Webb  was  to  do  the  introduction  and  Gil  Boyd 
the  running  account  of  the  game,  play  by  play. 
My  job  was  to  keep  tab  of  incidents  and  local- 
colour  stuff  generally.  But  the  old  Major  was 
there  as  a  spectator  merely. 

He  certainly  saw  a  sight.  In  that  town  we 
always  measured  multitudes  by  our  Derby  Day 
figures;  yet  even  Derby  Days  did  not  often  turn 
out  a  bigger  crowd  than  the  crowd  that  swarm 
ed  to  the  Downs  that  bright  gusty  December 
afternoon.  The  governor  came  down  from  the 
capital  and  most  of  the  statehouse  force  came 
with  him.  There  were  excursions  by  rail  in 
from  out  in  the  state,  all  of  them  mighty  well 
patronised. 

As  for  the  local  attendance — well,  so  far  as 
[274] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


compiling  a  directory  of  the  able-bodied  adult 
white  population  and  a  fair  sprinkling  of  the 
black  was  concerned,  the  enumerators  could 
have  simplified  and  expedited  their  task  con 
siderably  by  going  up  and  down  the  aisles  and 
jotting  down  the  names  as  they  went.  They 
could  have  made  a  fairly  complete  census  of 
our  prominent  families  without  straying  be 
yond  the  confines  of  the  reserved-seat  section 
at  the  front,  or  fashionable,  side  of  the  grand 
stand.  And  if  a  single  society  girl  in  town  was 
absent  it  was  because  her  parents  or  her  guar 
dian  kept  her  at  home  under  lock  and  key. 

Before  two  o'clock,  the  slanting  floor  beneath 
the  high-peaked  red  roof  of  the  structure  made 
you  think  of  a  big  hanging  garden,  what  with 
the  faces  and  the  figures  of  all  those  thousands 
packed  in  together,  row  after  row  of  them,  with 
the  finery  of  the  women  standing  out  from  the 
massed  background  in  brighter  patches  of  col 
our,  and  the  little  red  pennons  that  the  ven 
ders  had  peddled  in  the  audience  all  dancing 
and  swaying,  like  the  petals  of  wind-blown  flow 
ers.  That  spectacle  alone,  viewed  from  our 
vantage  place  over  across  the  race  course,  was 
worth  the  price  of  admission  to  anybody. 

Carrying  the  simile  a  bit  farther,  you  might 
have  likened  two  sections  of  space  in  the  stand 
to  hothouses  where  noise  was  being  brought 
into  bloom,  by  both  artificial  and  natural  means. 
One  of  these  forcing  beds  of  sound  was  where 
Midsylvania  grouped  herself — faculty  and  stu- 
[275] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND      THESE 

dents  and  old  graduates.  The  other,  a  smaller 
area,  held  the  visitors  from  Sangamon,  two 
hundred  strong  and  more,  who  had  come  down 
three  hundred  miles  by  special  train,  to  root  for 
the  challengers,  bringing  with  them  a  brass 
band  and  their  own  glee  club — or  a  good  part 
of  it,  anyhow — and  their  own  cheer  leader. 

This  cheer  leader,  being  the  first  of  a  now 
common  species  ever  seen  in  our  parts,  succeed 
ed  in  holding  the  public  eye 'mighty  closely,  as 
he  stood,  bareheaded  and  long-haired,  down  be 
low  on  the  track,  with  his  gaudy  blue-and-gold 
sweater  on,  and  his  big  megaphone  in  his  hand, 
jerking  his  arms  and  his  body  back  and  forth 
as  he  directed  his  chorus  above  in  its  organised 
cheering  and  its  well-drilled  singing  of  college 
songs. 

Compared  with  this  output,  Midsylvania's 
cheering  arose  in  larger  volume,  which  was  to 
be  expected,  seeing  that  Midsylvania  so  great 
ly  excelled  in  numbers  present,  and  had  behind 
its  delegations  the  favour  of  the  onlookers  al 
most  to  a  unit;  but,  even  so,  it  seemed  to  lack 
the  force  and  fervour  of  those  vocal  volleys  aris 
ing  from  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  Each  time 
Sangamon  let  off  a  yell  it  was  platoon  firing, 
steady  and  rapid  and  brisk;  and  literally  it 
crackled  on  the  air.  When  this  had  died  away, 
and  Midsylvania  had  answered  back,  the  re 
sult  somehow  put  you  in  mind  of  a  boy  whis 
tling  to  keep  up  his  courage  while  passing  a 

cemetery  after  dark. 

[276] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


It  is  hard  to  express  the  difference  in  words, 
but,  had  you  been  there  that  day,  you  would 
have  caught  it  in  a  jiffy.  One  group  was  cer 
tain  of  victory  impending  and  expressed  its  cer 
tainty;  the  other  was  doubtful  and  betrayed  it. 
In  the  intervals  between  the  whooping  and  the 
singing  Sangamon's  imported  band  would  play 
snatches  of  some  rousing  air,  or  else  Midsyl- 
vania's  band  would  play ;  between  the  two  of  them 
pumping  up  the  pulsebeats  of  all  and  sundry. 

I  was  struck  by  one  thing — the  Major  main 
tained  calm  and  dignity  through  all  the  pre 
liminary  excitement.  In  the  moment  of  the 
first  really  big  outburst,  which  was  when  the 
Varsity's  students  and  former  students  marched 
in  behind  their  band,  out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye 
I  caught  the  Major  with  a  pencil,  checking  off 
the  names  of  the  home  squad  on  his  copy  of  the 
official  programme.  Knowing  the  old  fellow  as 
I  did,  I  guessed  he  was  figuring  up  to  see  how 
many  of  the  players  were  members  of  Old  Fam 
ilies.  Nearly  all  of  them  w^ere,  for  that  matter. 
He  even  held  himself  in  when,  at  two-fifteen  or 
thereabouts,  first  one  of  the  teams  and  then  the 
other  trotted  out  from  under  opposite  ends  of 
the  grand  stand  and  crossed  the  track  to  the 
field  to  warm  up. 

He  asked  me  to  point  out  young  Morehead 
to  him;  and  when  I  did  he  nodded  as  if  in  af 
firmation  of  a  previous  decision  of  his  own.  On 
my  own  initiative  I  pointed  out  some  of  the 
other  stars  to  him  too. 

[277] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

In  advance  we  knew  Sangamon  was  going  to 
have  the  advantage  of  beef  on  her  side;  but  I 
do  not  think  anybody  realised  just  how  great 
the  advantage  was  until  we  saw  the  two  teams 
on  the  same  ground  and  had  opportunity  to 
compare  and  appraise  them,  man  for  man. 
Then  we  saw,  with  an  added  sinking  of  the 
spirit — at  least  I  knew  my  spirit  sank  at  the 
inequality  of  the  comparison — that  her  front 
line  outweighed  ours  by  pounds  upon  pounds 
of  brawn. 

In  another  regard  as  well,  and  a  more  essen 
tial  regard,  too,  she  showed  superiority.  For 
these  champions  from  the  upper  Corn  Belt  had 
what  plainly  their  opponents  always  before 
during  the  season  had  likewise  had,  but  now 
lacked:  they  had  an  enormous  conceit  of  them 
selves,  a  mountainous  and  a  monumental  belief 
in  their  ability  to  take  this  game  away  from  the 
rival  team. 

They  had  brought  it  with  them — this  assur 
ance — and  they  had  fed  it  stall-fat  beforehand; 
and  now,  with  the  easy  and  splendid  insolence 
of  lusty,  pampered  youth,  they  exhibited  it 
openly  before  all  these  hostile  eyes  upon  the 
enemy's  soil.  It  showed  in  them  individually 
and  as  a  unit.  Almost  as  visibly  as  though 
words  of  defiance  had  been  stencilled  upon  their 
tight-laced  jerkins  fore  and  aft,  they  flaunted 
forth  their  confidence  in  themselves,  somehow 
expressing  it  in  their  rippling  leg  muscles  and 
in  their  broad  backs  and  in  their  hunched  shoul- 
[278] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


ders  as  they  bunched  up  into  formidable  close 
formation,  and  in  everything  they  did  and  said 
in  the  few  minutes  of  practice  intervening  be 
fore  they  should  be  at  grips  with  their  oppo 
nents. 

They  accepted  the  handclaps  from  the  on 
lookers — a  tribute  of  hospitality  this  was,  ex 
tended  by  people  to  whom  hospitality  for  the 
stranger  was  as  sacred  as  their  religion  and  as 
sincere  as  their  politics — with  an  air  which  be 
tokened,  most  evidently,  that  presently  they 
meant  to  repay  those  who  greeted  them  for  the 
greeting,  by  achieving  one  of  Sangamon's  cus 
tomary  victories  in  Sangamon's  customary 
workmanlike  fashion.  Among  them  Vretson, 
the  much-advertised,  loomed  a  greater  giant 
above  lesser  giants,  justifying  by  bulk  alone  his 
title  of  the  Terrible  Swede. 

As  for  Midsylvania's  players,  upon  the  other 
hand,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  watched  them,  that 
they,  in  turn,  watched  the  young  Gogs  and  Ma 
gogs  who  were  to  grapple  with  them  in  a  half- 
fearsome,  half-furtive  fashion.  I  marked  that 
they  flinched  nervously,  like  debutantes,  before 
the  volleys  of  friendly  applause  from  the  crowd. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  their  thoughts  must  be 
studded  with  big  black  question  marks;  where 
as  we  all  could  understand  that  no  suggestion 
of  doubtfulness  punctuated  the  anticipations  of 
the  opposing  eleven  touching  on  the  possibili 
ties  of  the  next  two  hours. 

The  feeling  of  foreboding  spread  like  a  cold 
[279] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

contagion  from  the  field  to  the  press  stand,  af 
fecting  the  newspaper  men;  and,  becoming  gen 
erally  epidemic,  it  reached  the  spectators.  That 
earlier  lustiness  was  almost  altogether  lacking 
from  the  outbreak  signalling  the  beginning  of 
play.  In  the  salvo  there  was  nothing  hearten 
ing.  It  appeared  rather  to  be  pitched  in  the 
tone  of  sympathetic  consolation  for  a  predes 
tined  and  an  impending  catastrophe;  and  even 
the  bark  and  roar  of  Midsylvania's  yell,  as  all 
Midsylvania  gave  it,  seemed  to  have  almost  a 
hollow  daunted  sound  to  it.  Where  we  sat  we 
could  sense  this  abatement  of  spirit  with  par 
ticular  plainness;  in  fact,  I  rather  think  Major 
Stone  was  the  only  person  there  who  did  not 
sense  it  in  its  full  effect  and  its  full  import. 

I  am  not  going  to  spend  overmuch  space  in 
describing  the  first  half  of  that  game;  this  was 
in  the  days  when  games  were  divided  into 
halves,  and  not  quartered  up  into  periods. 
Anyhow,  I  have  forgotten  a  good  many  of  the 
details.  The  principal  points  are  what  stick 
out  in  my  memory.  I  remember  that  on  the 
toss  of  the  coin  Sangamon  won  and  kicked  off. 
It  was  Vretson — no  less — who  drove  his  tal 
ented  punting  toe  into  the  pigskin. 

There  was  a  sound  as  though  some  one  had 
smote  a  taut  bladder  with  a  slapstick,  and  the 
ball  soared  upward  and  away,  shrinking  from 
the  size  of  a  watermelon  to  the  size  of  a  gourd, 
and  from  a  gourd  to  a  goose  egg;  and  then  it 
came  whirling  downward  again,  growing  big- 
[  280  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


ger  as  it  dropped.  Woolwine,  our  quarter, 
caught  it  and  took  a  flying  start  off  his  shoe 
hobs.  Fay  and  the  other  Sangamon  end,  whose 
name  I  have  forgotten,  were  after  him  like  a 
pair  of  coursing  beagles  after  a  doubling  hare; 
and  together  they  nailed  him  before  he  had 
gone  twenty  yards,  and  down  he  went,  with 
Fay  on  top  of  him  and  What'shisname  on  top 
of  Fay.  When  they  dug  the  three  of  them  out 
of  their  heap  little  Woolwine  still  had  the  ball 
under  him. 

As  the  teams  lined  up,  boring  their  heads  for 
ward  to  a  common  centre,  billy-goat  fashion, 
and  Morehead,  who  was  playing  end,  called  out 
the  signals,  "Six — eight — twenty-eight — thirty- 
one" — or  some  such  combination  of  figures — 
we  caught  the  quaver  in  his  voice.  Ike  Webb, 
sitting  next  to  me,  gave  a  little  groan  and  laid 
down  his  pencil,  and  put  his  pessimistic  face  in 
his  sheltering  hands. 

"Listen  to  that  tremolo  note,  will  you?"  he 
lamented  from  between  his  fingers.  "Licked, 
by  golly,  before  they  start!  They  won't  play  to 
win,  because  they're  scared  to  death  already. 
They'll  play  to  keep  from  being  licked  by  too 
big  a  score,  and  that  means  they  won't  have  a 
chance.  Just  you  fellows  watch  and  see  if  I'm 
not  right.  Ah-h!  There  she  goes!" 

We  watched  all  right;  and  we  saw  that  our 

boys  meant  to  try  to  carry  the  ball  through  for 

gains.    There  was  not  a  chance  of  that,  though. 

They  butted  their  heads  against  a  stone  wall 

[281] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

until  they  fairly  addled  the  football  instincts  in 
their  brains.  In  two  attempts  they  did  not  ad 
vance  the  ball  six  feet;  so  they  tried  kicking  it. 
Young  Railey  punted  well  into  Sangamon  ter 
ritory  and  now  Sangamon  had  the  ball.  She 
lost  it  on  a  fumble,  but  got  it  back  a  minute  or 
two  later  on  a  fumble  slip  by  the  other  side. 
In  their  respective  shortcomings  as  regards  fum 
bling  it  was  even-Stephen  between  the  teams; 
but  Ike  Webb  couldn't  view  the  thing  in  any 
such  optimistic  light.  He  had  turned  into  a 
merciless  critic  of  the  Varsity  outfit. 

"Aha!"  he  muttered  dolorously  as  a  scrim 
maging  tangle  of  forms  disentangled  and  showed 
that  Sangamon,  by  a  smart  bit  of  strategy,  had 
gained  three  yards.  "What  did  I  tell  you  not 
five  minutes  back?  Those  boys  lost  their  hearts 
before  they  even  began,  and  now  they're  due  to 
lose  their  heads  too." 

It  really  looked  as  though  Ike  Webb  was 
qualifying  for  clairvoyant  honours,  for  prompt 
ly  Midsylvania's  defence  became  more  and  more 
inefficient,  more  and  more  uncertain.  Sanga 
mon  had  a  smart  field  commander,  and  he  took 
leeway  of  the  advantage.  He  set  his  men  to 
the  job  of  jamming  through;  and  jam  through 
they  did.  It  took  time,  though,  because  Mid- 
sylvania,  of  course,  offered  a  measure  of  resist 
ance.  To  me,  however,  it  appeared  to  be  the 
mechanical  resistance  of  bodies  in  action  rather 
than  anything  guided  by  a  spiritual  determina 
tion— i1^ou_get^ 

[  282  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


deal  of  time;  but  after  a  while,  by  dint  of  shov 
ing  ahead  with  all  her  tonnage  against  Midsyl- 
vania's  slighter  and  lighter  displacement,  the 
visitors  forced  the  ball  along  to  Midsylvania's 
thirty-yard  line. 

At  this  point,  Sangamon  suddenly  changed 
her  tactics.  Collop,  her  captain,  made  a  ges 
ture  with  his  arms  and  the  Blue  tackles  drop 
ped  back  a  little.  From  the  centre  of  the 
massed  wedge  of  shapes  a  signal  was  barked 
out.  So  swiftly  that  the  spectacle  made  you 
think  of  a  pyramid  of  pool  balls  scattering  over 
a  pool  table  when  the  cue  ball  hits  it  hard  on 
the  nose,  the  visiting  players  shifted  positions. 

For  ten  seconds  we  lost  sight  of  the  ball  al 
together.  When  we  saw  it  again  it  was  cud 
dling  in  Vretson's  vast,  outspread  paws.  Who 
had  passed  it,  or  how  it  got  there  after  being 
passed,  I  never  knew.  Magically  it  had  mate 
rialised  in  his  grasp  in  the  same  way  that  a 
prestidigitator's  china  egg  is  produced  from  a 
country  Jake's  whiskers.  He  tucked  it  into  the 
bight  of  his  left  arm  and,  with  his  mighty  right 
arm  swinging  behind  him  as  a  rudder  and  be 
fore  him  as  a  flail,  he  tore  down  the  field,  go 
ing  away  out  to  the  right. 

He  was  fast  for  his  size — wonderfully  fast, 
and  besides,  he  had  perfect  interference  to  help 
him  along.  His  mates,  skirmishing  out  on  his 
flank,  threw  back  and  bowled  over  the  men  who 
bored  in  to  tackle  him.  In  his  flight  he  himself 
accounted  for  at  least  two  Varsity  players  who 
[283] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

sprang  round  the  wings  of  his  protecting  line, 
hoping  to  intercept  the  big  sprinter.  One  he 
dodged,  the  other  he  flung  aside;  and  then  he 
kept  on  and  on  until  after  a  run  of  thirty-five 
yards,  he  flung  himself  through  the  air;  and, 
with  Cabell,  of  Midsylvania,  clutching  at  the 
wideness  between  his  shoulder  blades,  he  drop 
ped  flat  across  Midsylvania's  goal  line.  A 
groan  went  up  from  the  grand  stand. 

There  wasn't  a  sound  from  any  quarter, 
though,  as  Vretson  squared  off  to  kick  for  a 
goal;  but  whoops  of  relief  arose  when  the  ball, 
after  soaring  high  and  straight,  veered  off  under 
pressure  of  a  puff  of  air  and,  instead  of  passing 
over  the  bar,  struck  one  of  the  goal  posts  with 
a  mellow  smack  and  dropped  back.  So  the 
score,  by  the  rules  of  those  times,  stood  four  to 
naught. 

Nearly  everybody  there,  I  guess,  figured  that 
Sangamon  would  promptly  buttress  her  lead 
by  at  least  four  additional  points,  and  very  pos 
sibly  more;  but  she  didn't.  True,  she  played 
all  round  and  all  over  and  all  through  Midsyl 
vania  during  the  remaining  portion  of  the  first 
half,  but  she  did  not  score  again.  This  was  due 
not  so  much  to  the  rebuttal  fight  the  defenders 
offered,  for  now  their  playing  sagged  more  woe 
fully  weak  than  ever,  but  to  small  misplays 
and  slip-ups  and  seeming  overconfidence  on  the 
part  of  Sangamon. 

It  may  have  been  they  were  cocksure  of  their 
power  to  score  again  when  they  chose.  Maybe 
[  284  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


they  were  a  trifle  tired.  Maybe  they  were  sat 
isfied  to  postpone  the  slaughter-house  work  un 
til  toward  the  end  of  the  game  and  make  a 
spectacular,  overwhelming  finish  of  it.  Any 
how,  it  struck  us,  in  the  press  stand,  that  the 
reason  behind  their  failure  to  push  their  ad 
vantage  still  farther,  during  the  next  ten  min 
utes  or  so,  was  rather  because  of  their  own  dis 
inclination  than  because  of  any  strategy  or 
strength  Midsylvania's  plainly  despondent 
eleven  presented  against  them. 

Along  here  I  became  aware,  subconsciously 
at  first,  and  then  in  a  minute  or  so  with  a  fuller 
sense  of  realisation,  that  Major  Stone  had 
waked  up.  I  felt  him  wriggling  on  the  bench, 
joggling  me  in  the  side  with  his  elbow;  and 
when  I  looked  at  him  his  face  was  an  indignant 
pink  and  his  little  white  goatee  was  bristling 
like  a  thistle  pod. 

He  was  saying  something  to  himself,  and  by 
listening,  I  caught  from  his  muttered  words  the 
purport  of  the  change  that  had  come  into  the 
old  man's  emotions,  which  change,  as  I  speed 
ily  divined,  was  exactly  what  might  have  been 
expected  of  him.  He  did  not  have  the  attitude 
of  the  average  spectator  over  in  the  grand 
stand,  for  his  bump  of  local  pride  was  not  being 
bruised,  as  theirs  was,  by  this  exhibition.  Nor 
had  he  grasped  and  assimilated  the  feelings  of 
those  two  groups  of  youngsters  whose  cleated 
feet  ripped  up  the  turf  in  front  of  him. 

It  did  not  lie  within  his  capabilities  to  share 
[285] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

their  youthful  and,  therefore,  profound  convic 
tion  that  all  which  was  desirable  in  life,  here  or 
hereafter,  centred  on  the  results  of  this  strug 
gle;  and  that  the  youth  who  failed  now  to  ac-- 
quit  himself  to  the  greater  glory  of  his  com* 
rades  and  his  class  and  his  college — and,  most 
of  all,  himself — would  droop  an  abased  and 
shameful  head  through  all  the  years  to  come. 
For,  as  I  may  have  remarked  before,  Major 
Stone  was  not  a  bright  person,  but  rather  a 
stupid  one;  and  his  viewpoint  on  most  subjects 
had  not  altered  materially  since  Appomattox. 

That  was  it — it  had  not  altered  since  Appo 
mattox;  and  because  it  had  not  he  was  viewing 
the  present  event  as  a  struggle  between  North 
and  South — as  a  conflict  into  which  Civil  War 
causes  and  Civil  War  effects  directly  entered. 
Possibly  you  cannot  understand  that.  But  you 
could  if  you  had  known  Major  Stone  and  men 
like  him,  most  of  whom  are  now  dead  and 
gone.  His  face  turned  from  a  hot  pink  to  a  dull 
brick-dust  red,  and  he  gnawed  at  his  moustache. 

"It  is  monstrous!"  I  heard  him  say.  "It  is 
incredible!  Southern  sons  of  Southern  sires, 
every  damned  one  of  them!  And  because  the 
odds  are  against  them  they  have  weakened!  I 
myself  can  see  that  they  are  weakening  eiery 
minute.  Why,  the  thing's  incredible — that's 
what  it  is !  Incredible ! " 

Just  then  the  whistle  blew,  and  the  teams, 
which  had  been  in  a  mix-up,  unsnarled  them- 
selves.  The  Sangamon  eleven  came  off  the 
[286]  ~~" 


CINNAMON      SEED 


field;  some  of  them  were  briskly  trotting  to 
prove  their  fitness,  and  some  were  swaggering  a 
little  as  their  band  hit  up  the  tune  of  Marching 
Through  Georgia  to  play  them  into  their  quar 
ters  under  the  stand.  But  the  Varsity  eleven 
passed  out  of  sight  with  shoulders  that  drooped 
and  with  no  spring  in  their  gaits. 

Back  at  the  tail  end  of  their  line  went  little 
Morehead,  wiping  his  damp  eyes  with  the  dirty 
sleeve  of  his  jersey.  Morehead  was  no  young 
Saint  Laurence,  to  expire  smilingly  on  a  grid 
iron.  He  was  not  of  the  stuff  that  martyrs  are 
made  of;  he  was  a  creature,  part  man  and  part 
boy,  and  the  man  part  of  him  made  him  furious 
with  self-reproach,  but  the  boy  in  him  made 
him  cry.  I  take  it,  some  of  the  spectators  felt 
almost  like  crying  too;  certainly  their  cheering 
sounded  so. 

One  of  the  Red  tackles — Rodney — had  been 
disabled  just  before  the  breakaway,  and  I  ran 
over  to  Midsylvania's  quarters  to  find  out  for 
the  paper  whether  he  was  injured  to  the  degree 
of  being  definitely  incapacitated  for  further  par 
ticipation  in  the  game.  In  what,  during  race 
meets,  was  a  refreshment  establishment,  under 
the  grand  stand,  I  obtruded  upon  a  veritable 
grand  lodge  of  sorrow. 

Gadsden,  the  coach,  who  had  played  with 
the  team  the  year  before,  which  was  his  gradu 
ating  year,  was  out  in  the  centre  of  the  floor 
making  a  brave  pretense  at  being  hopeful;  but 
I  do  not  think  anybody  present  suffered  him- 
[287] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

self  to  be  deceived  thereby.  His  pleas  to  the 
team  to  buck  up  and  to  brace  up,  and  to  go 
back  in  and  fight  for  every  point,  lacked  sin 
cerity.  He  appeared  to  be  haranguing  them 
because  that  was  the  ordained  thing  for  him  to 
do,  and  not  because  he  expected  to  infuse  into 
them  any  part  of  his  make-believe  optimism. 
Lying  on  their  backs  upon  blankets,  with  limbs 
relaxed,  some  of  his  hearers  turned  dejected 
faces  upward.  Others,  sitting  upright  or  squat 
ted  on  their  knees,  kept  their  abashed  heads  on 
their  breasts,  staring  down  steadfastly  at  noth 
ing  at  all. 

Morehead  was  sulking  by  himself  in  a  cor 
ner,  winking  his  eyelids  and  wrinkling  his  face 
up  to  hold  back  the  tears  of  his  mortification. 
He  blamed  himself,  I  take  it,  for  what  was  the 
fault  of  all.  Cabell  was  a  tousled  heap,  against 
a  wall.  He  was  flexing  a  bruised  wrist,  as 
though  that  small  hurt  was  just  now  the  most 
important  thing  in  the  world  to  him.  Even 
the  darky  rubbers  and  the  darky  water  carrier 
showed  their  sensations  by  their  dejected  faces. 
There  was  enough  of  downcastness  in  that 
room  to  supply  half  a  dozen  funerals  with  all 
the  gloom  they  might  require;  the  whole  place 
exhaled  the  essence  of  a  resentful  depression 
that  was  as  plainly  to  be  sniffed  up  into  the 
nostrils  as  the  smells  of  alcohol  and  arnica  and 
liniment  which  burdened  the  air  and  gave  the 
accompaniment  of  a  drug-store  smell  to  the 

picture. 

[  288  ] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


As  I  halted  at  the  door  on  my  way  out  of 
this  melancholy  spot  to  the  scarcely  less  melan 
choly  atmosphere  of  the  open,  having  learned 
that  Rodney  was  not  really  injured,  somebody 
bumped  into  me,  jostling  me  to  one  side;  and, 
to  my  astonishment,  I  saw  that  the  impetuous 
intruder  was  Major  Stone.  I  had  not  known 
until  then  that  he  had  followed  me  here,  and  I 
did  not  know  now  what  errand  could  have 
brought  him  along.  But  he  did  not  keep  me 
wondering  long;  in  fact,  he  did  not  keep  me 
wondering  at  all.  He  burst  in  on  them  with  a 
great  "Woof!"  of  indignation. 

Before  scarcely  any  one  there  had  realised 
that  a  newcomer,  arriving  unheralded  and  all 
unexpected,  was  in  their  midst,  he  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  littered  floor,  glaring  about  him 
and  snorting  loudly.  His  first  words,  too,  were 
calculated  not  only  to  startle  them  but  deeply 
to  profane  the  semi-privacy  of  their  grief  and 
their  humiliation. 

"Young  gentlemen,"  he  fairly  shouted,  "I 
am  ashamed  of  you!  And  I  have  come  here  to 
tell  you  so,  and  to  tell  you  why  I  am  ashamed." 

By  sight,  even,  he  was  probably  a  stranger  to 
most  of  those  who,  with  one  accord,  now  stared 
at  the  little,  old-fashioned  figure  of  this  invader. 
They  straightened  up.  There  was  a  rustle  and 
a  creaking  of  their  harnessed  and  padded  bod 
ies.  Perhaps  surprise  held  them  dumb;  or  per 
haps  they  were  in  a  humour  to  take  a  scolding, 
even  from  an  outsider,  feeling  that  they  de- 
[289] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

served  it.  At  any  rate,  only  one  of  them  spoke. 
I  think  it  was  the  voice  of  Gadsden,  the  coach, 
that  answered  back. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  he  asked.  "And 
who  the  devil  let  you  in  here,  anyhow?" 

"You  may  not  know  me,"  snapped  the  Ma 
jor;  "but  I  know  you."  He  wheeled  on  his 
heels,  aiming  a  jabbing  forefinger  at  this  man 
and  that.  "And  I  know  you — and  I  know 
you — and  I  know  you — and  you,  and  you,  too, 
young  sir,  over  there  in  the  corner.  What  is 
more,  I  knew  your  fathers  before  you." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"What  of  it?  This  much  of  it:  Your  fa 
thers  before  you  were  gallant  Southern  gentle 
men — the  bearers  of  honoured  names;  names 
revered  in  this  state  and  in  the  Southern  ar 
mies.  That  is  what  your  fathers  were.  And 
what  have  you,  their  sons,  proved  yourselves 
to  be  this  day?  Cravens — that  is  the  word. 
Cravens !  Out  of  all  the  South  you  were  chosen 
to  represent  your  native  land  against  these 
Northerners ;  and  how  have  you  repaid  the  trust 
imposed  in  you?  By  quitting — by  showing  the 
white  feather,  like  a  flock  of  dunghill  cockerels 
— by  raising  the  white  flag  at  the  first  attack!" 

A  babble  of  resentful  voices  arose: 

"Say,  look  here;  now " 

"What  do  you  know  about  football?" 

"Who  gave  you  any  license  to  butt  in  here?" 

"Say,  that's  pretty  rough!" 

He  broke  into  the  confused  chorus  of  their 
[290] 


CINNAMON      SEED 

protests,  silencing  the  interrupters  by  the 
stormy  blare  of  his  rejoinder.  He  was  so  terri 
bly  in  earnest  that  they  just  had  to  hearken. 

"I  know  nothing  of  this  game  you  have  es 
sayed  to  play.  Before  to-day  I  never  saw  it 
played;  and  if  this  miserable  exhibition  by  you 
is  a  sample  of  the  game  I  hope  never  to  see  it 
played  again.  But  I  know  courage  when  I  see 
it  and  I  know  cowardice  when  I  see  it." 

He  levelled  his  condemning  finger  at  little 
Morehead  and  focused  his  glare  upon  that  un 
happy  youth. 

"Your  name  is  Morehead!  Your  grandfa 
ther  was  a  great  governor  of  this  great  state. 
Your  father  was  my  companion  in  arms  upon 
the  field  of  battle — and  no  braver  man  ever 
breathed,  sir.  This  historic  inclosure  bears  the 
honoured  name  of  your  honoured  line — More- 
head  Downs.  You  are  the  chosen  leader  of 
these  companions  of  yours.  And  how  have 
you  led  them  to-day?  How  have  you  acquitted 
yourself  of  your  trust?  I  ask  you  that — how?" 

He  halted,  out  of  breath. 

"The  other  team  is  stronger.  They've  got 
us  outclassed.  Look — why,  look  at  the  reputa 
tion  they've  got  all  over  this  country!  What 
— what  chance  have  we  against  them?" 

The  confession  came  from  little  Morehead 
haltingly,  as  though  he  spoke  against  his  own 
will  in  his  own  defence. 

"Damn  their  reputation!"  shouted  Major 
Stone.  "Your  very  words  are  an  admission  of 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

the  things  I  allege  against  you,  and  against  all 
of  you  here.  Concede  that  your  antagonists 
are  stronger  than  you,  man  for  man.  Concede 
that  they  outclass  you  in  experience.  Is  that 
any  reason  why  they  should  outclass  you  in 
courage  and  in  determination?  Your  father 
and  the  fathers  of  more  than  half  of  the  rest  of 
you  served  in  an  army  that  for  four  years  de 
fended  our  beloved  country  against  a  foe  im 
mensely  stronger  than  they  were — stronger  in 
men,  in  money,  in  munitions,  in  food,  in  sup 
plies,  in  guns — stronger  in  everything  except 
valour. 

"Suppose,  because  of  the  odds  against  them, 
your  people  had  lost  heart  from  the  very  out 
set,  as  you  yourselves  have  lost  heart  here  to 
day.  Would  that  great  war  have  lasted  for 
four  years?  Or  would  it  have  lasted  for  four 
months?  Would  the  Southern  Confederacy 
have  endured  until  it  no  longer  had  the  soldiers 
to  fill  the  gaps  and  hold  the  lines;  or  food  for 
the  bellies  of  those  soldiers  who  were  left;  or 
powder  and  lead  for  their  guns?  Or  would  it 
have  surrendered  after  the  first  repulse,  as  you 
have  surrendered?  Answer  me  that,  some  of 
you! 

"These  Northerners  are  game  clear  through; 
I  can  tell  that.  Their  ancestors  before  them 
were  brave  men — the  Southern  Confederacy 
could  never  have  been  starved  out  and  bled 
white  by  a  breed  of  cowards.  And  these  young 
men  here — these  splendid  young  Americans 
[292] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


from  up  yonder  in  that  Northern  country — 
have  the  same  gallant  spirit  their  people  showed 
forty  years  ago  against  your  people.  But  you 
— you  have  lost  the  spirit  of  your  race,  that 
surely  must  have  been  born  in  you.  You  are 
going  to  let  these  Yankees  run  right  over  you 
-  your  behaviour  proves  it  —  and  not  fight 
back.  That  is  what  I  charge  against  you. 
That  is  what  I  am  here  to  tell  you." 

"How  about  me?"  put  in  one  of  the  blan 
keted  contingent  of  his  audience.  "My  people 
were  all  Unionists." 

"Your  name?"  demanded  the  Major  of  him. 

"Speedman." 

"A  son  of  the  late  Colonel  Henry  T.  Speed 
man?" 

"His  nephew." 

"I  knew  your  uncle  and  your  uncle's  broth 
ers  and  your  grandfather.  They  were  Union- 
men  from  principle;  and  I  admired  them  for  it, 
even  though  we  differed,  and  even  though  they 
took  up  arms  against  their  own  kinsmen  and 
fought  on  the  opposite  side.  They  wore  the 
blue  from  conviction;  but  when  the  war  was 
over  your  uncle,  being  a  Southerner,  helped  to 
save  his  native  state  from  carpetbaggery  and 
bayonet  rule.  That  was  the  type  of  man  your 
uncle  was.  I  regret  to  note  that  you  did  not 
inherit  his  qualities.  I  particularly  observed 
your  behaviour  out  there  on  that  field  yonder  a 
while  ago.  You  quit,  young  man — you  quit 

like  a  dog!" 

[293] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Say,  look  here;  you're  an  old  man,  and 
that's  enough  to  save  you!"  Speedman  sud 
denly  was  sobbing  in  his  mortification.  "But 
—but  you've  got  no  right  to  say  things  like 

that  to  me.  You've — you've "  A  gulp  cut 

the  miserable  youngster's  utterance  short.  He 
choked  and  plaintively  tried  again:  "If  we 
can't  win  we  can't  win — and  that's  all  there  is 
to  it!  Isn't  it,  fellows?" 

He  looked  to  his  companions  in  distress  for 
comfort;  but  all  of  them,  as  though  mesmer 
ised,  were  looking  at  Major  Stone.  It  dawned 
on  me,  watching  and  listening  across  the  thresh 
old,  that  some  influence — some  electric  appeal 
to  an  inner  consciousness  of  theirs — was  begin 
ning  to  galvanise  them,  taking  the  droop  out  of 
their  spines,  and  making  their  frames  tense 
where  there  had  been  a  sag  of  nonresistance, 
and  putting  sparks  of  resentment  into  their 
eyes.  The  transformation  had  been  almost  in 
stantaneously  accomplished,  but  it  was  plainly 
visible. 

"I  am  not  expecting  that  you  should  win," 
snapped  the  Major,  turning  Speedman's  words 
into  an  admonition  for  all  of  them.  "I  do  not 
believe  it  is  humanly  possible  for  you  to  win. 
There  is  nothing  disgraceful  in  being  fairly  de 
feated;  the  disgrace  is  in  accepting  defeat  with 
out  fighting  back  with  all  your  strength  and  all 
your  will  and  all  your  skill  and  all  your  strategy 
and  all  your  tactics.  And  that  is  exactly  what 
I  have  just  seen  you  doing.  And  that,  judging 
[294] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


by  all  the  indications,  is  exactly  what  you  will 
go  on  doing  during  the  remaining  portion  of 
this  affair." 

There  were  no  more  interruptions.  For  per 
haps  two  or  three  minutes  more,  then,  the  old 
Major  went  steadily  on,  saying  his  say  to  the 
end.  Saying  it,  he  wasn't  the  Old  Major  I  had 
known  before;  he  was  not  pottering  and  pon 
derous;  he  did  not  clothe  his  thoughts  in  cum 
bersome,  heavy  phrases.  He  fairly  bit  the 
words  off — short,  bitter,  scorching  words — and 
spat  them  out  in  their  faces.  He  did  not  plead 
with  them;  nor — except  by  indirection — did  he 
invoke  a  sentiment  that  was  bound  to  be  as 
much  a  part  of  them  as  the  nails  on  their  fin 
gers  or  the  teeth  in  their  mouths. 

And,  somehow,  I  felt — and  I  knew  they  felt 
—that  here,  in  this  short,  stumpy  white-haired 
form,  stood  the  Old  South,  embodied  and  typi 
fied,  with  all  its  sectional  pride  and  all  its  sec 
tional  devotion — yes,  and  all  its  sectional  preju 
dices.  All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence, 
he  checked  up;  and  then,  staring  hard  at  them 
through  a  pause,  he  spoke  his  final  message: 

"You  are  of  the  seed  of  heroes.  Try  to  re 
member  that  when  you  go  back  out  yonder 
before  that  great  crowd.  You  are  the  sons  of 
men  who  had  sand,  who  had  bottom,  who  had 
all  the  things  a  fighting  man  should  have.  Try 
— if  you  can — to  remember  it!" 

Out  from  behind  the  group  that  had  clus- 
tered  before  the  speaker,  darted  a  diminutive 
[295] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

darky  —  Midsylvania's  self  -  appointed  water 
carrier: 

"He  done  jest  said  it!"  whooped  the  little 
negro,  dancing  up  and  down  in  frenzy.  "He 
done  jest  said  it!  'Cinnamon  Seed  an'  Sandy 
Bottom ! '  Dat's  it !  . '  Cinnamon  Seed  an*  Sandy 
Bottom!' — same  ez  you  sez  it  w'en  you  sings 
Dixie  Land.  Dem's  de  words  to  win  by!  W'ite 
folks,  youse  done  heared  de  lesson  preached 
frum  de  true  tex5.  Come  on!  Le's  us  go  an' 
tear  dem  Sangamonders  down!  'Cinnamon 
Seed  an'  Sandy  Bottom!'  Oh,  gloree,  gloree, 
hallelujah!" 

He  rocked  back  on  his  splay  feet,  his  knees 
sprung  forward,  his  mouth  wide  open,  and  his 
eyes  popping  out  of  his  black  face. 

The  Major  did  not  look  the  little  darky's 
way.  Settling  his  slouch  hat  on  his  head,  he 
faced  about  and  out  he  stalked;  and  I,  follow 
ing  along  after  him,  was  filled  with  conflicting 
emotions,  for,  as  it  happened,  my  father  was  a 
Confederate  soldier,  too,  and  I  had  been  bred 
up  on  a  mixed  diet  of  Robert  E.  Lee,  N.  B. 
Forrest  and  Albert  Sidney  Johnston. 

I  followed  him  back  to  our  post,  he  saying 
nothing  at  all  on  the  way  and  I  likewise  silent. 
I  scrouged  past  him  to  my  place  alongside  Ike 
Webb  and  sat  down,  and  tried  in  a  few  words 
to  give  Ike  and  Gil  Boyd  a  summary  of  the 
sight  I  had  just  witnessed.  And  when  I  was 
done  I  illustrated  my  brief  and  eager  narrative 
by  pointing  with  a  flirt  of  my  thumb  to  Major 
[296] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


Stone,  stiffly  erect  on  my  left  hand,  with  his 
chest  protruded  and  his  head  held  high  in  a 
posture  faintly  suggestive  of  certain  popular 
likenesses  of  the  late  Napoleon  Bonaparte;  and 
on  his  elderly  face  was  the  look  of  one  who, 
having  sowed  good  seed  in  receptive  loam,  con 
fidently  expects  an  abundant  and  a  gratifying 
harvest. 

It  was  a  different  team  which  came  out  for 
the  second  half  of  that  game;  not  exactly  a 
jaunty  team,  nor  yet  a  boisterous  one,  but 
rather  a  team  that  were  grimly  silent,  indicat 
ing  by  their  silence  a  certain  preparedness  and 
a  certain  resolution  for  the  performance  of  that 
which  is  claimed  to  speak  louder  than  words — 
action. 

The  onlookers,  I  judged,  saw  the  difference 
almost  instantly  and  realised  that,  from  some 
source,  somehow,  Morehead's  men  had  gath 
ered  unto  themselves  a  new  power  of  will, 
which  presently  they  meant  to  express  physic 
ally.  And  three  minutes  later  Sangamon  found 
herself  breasted  by  a  mechanism  that  had  in  its 
composition  the  springiness  of  an  earnest  desire 
and  a  sincere  determination,  whereas  before,  in 
emergencies,  it  had  expressed  no  more  than 
sullen  and  downhearted  desperation. 

Now  from  the  very  outset  there  was  resilience 
behind  its  formations  and  active  intelligence 
behind  its  movements,  guiding  and  shaping 
them.  The  confronting  line  might  give  under 
the  pressure  of  superior  weight,  but  it  bounced 
[297] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

right  back.  At  once  it  was  made  manifest  that 
the  Red  eleven  would  not  thenceforward  be 
content  merely  to  defend,  but  would  have  the 
effrontery  actually  to  attack,  and  attack  again, 
and  to  keep  on  attacking.  No  longer  was  it  a 
case  of  hammer  falling  on  anvil;  two  hammers 
were  battering  against  one  another,  nose  to  nose 
now,  and  in  one  stroke  there  was  as  much 
buoyancy  as  in  the  other. 

In  my  eagerness  to  reach  my  climax  I  am 
getting  ahead  of  my  story.  Let's  go  back  a 
bit:  The  whistle  blew.  The  antagonists  hav 
ing  swapped  goals,  Midsylvania  now  had  what 
benefit  was  to  be  derived  from  the  wind,  which 
blew  out  of  the  West  at  a  quartering  angle 
across  the  field.  Following  the  kick-off  an  in 
terchange  of  punts  ensued.  Midsylvania  ap 
parently  elected  to  continue  these  kicking  oper 
ations  indefinitely ;  whereupon  it  is  probable  the 
Sangamon  strategists  jumped  at  the  conclusion 
that,  realising  the  hopelessness  of  overcoming 
the  weight  presented  against  them,  the  locals 
meant  to  make  a  kicking  match  of  it.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  they  accepted  the  challenge,  if  chal 
lenge  it  was,  and  a  punting  duel  ensued,  with 
no  noteworthy  fortunes  falling  to  either  eleven. 

I  think  it  was  early  in  this  stage  of  the  pro 
ceedings,  after  some  mighty  brisk  scrimmaging, 
when  the  strangers,  by  coming  into  violent 
physical  contact  with  their  opponents,  discov 
ered  that  a  new  spirit  inspired  and  governed 
the  others,  and  began  to  apprehend  that,  after 
""""  [298] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


all,  this  would  not  be  a  walkover  for  them;  but 
that  they  must  fight,  and  fight  hard,  to  hold 
their  present  lead,  and  fight  even  harder  if  they 
expected  to  swell  that  lead. 

When,  at  the  first  opportunity  for  a  forward 
push,  the  Red  line  came  at  the  Blue  with  an 
impetuosity  theretofore  lacking  from  its  frontal 
assaults,  you  could  almost  see  the  ripple  of  as 
tonishment  running  down  the  spines  of  the 
Northerners  as  they  braced  themselves  to  meet 
and  stay  the  onslaught.  Anyhow,  you  could 
imagine  you  saw  it;  certainly  there  were  puz 
zled  looks  on  the  faces  of  some  of  them  as  they 
emerged  from  the  melee. 

With  appreciative  roars,  the  crowd  greeted 
these  evidences  of  a  newer  and  more  comfort 
ing  aspect  to  the  situation.  Each  time  some 
Midsylvania  player  caught  the  booted  ball  as 
it  came  tumbling  out  of  the  skies  the  grand 
stand  rocked  to  the  noise;  each  time  Midsyl 
vania  sent  it  flying  back  to  foreign  ground  it 
rocked  some  more;  each  time  the  teams  clashed, 
then  locked  together,  it  was  to  be  seen  that  the 
Midsylvanians  held  their  ground  despite  the 
efforts  of  their  bulkier  rivals  to  uproot  and 
overthrow  them. 

And,  at  that,  the  air  space  beneath  the  peak 
ed  roof  was  ripped  all  to  flinders  by  exultant 
blares  from  sundry  thousands  of  lungs.  Under 
the  steady  pounding  feet  the  floor  of  the  grand 
stand  became  a  great  bass  drum,  which  was 
never  silent;  and  all  the  myriad  red  flags 
[299] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

danced  together.  Into  the  struggle  an  element 
of  real  dash  had  entered  and  mightily  it  uplift 
ed  the  spectators.  They  knew  now  that,  though 
the  Varsity  team  might  be  beaten,  and  prob 
ably  would  be,  they  would  not  be  disgraced. 
It  would  be  an  honourable  defeat  before  over 
powering  odds,  and  one  stoutly  resisted  to  the 
end  by  all  that  intelligence,  plus  pluck,  could 
do. 

There  was  no  fault  now  to  be  found  with 
Midsylvania's  captain.  Little  Morehead,  with 
his  face  a  red  smear,  was  playing  all  over  the 
lot.  The  impact  of  a  collision  with  a  bigger 
frame  than  his,  had  slammed  him  face  down 
against  the  ground,  skinning  one  cheek  and 
bloodying  his  nose.  He  looked  like  a  mad  In 
dian  in  streaky  war  paint,  and  he  played  like 
one.  He  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  ex 
horting,  commanding,  leading;  by  shouted  pre 
cept  and  by  reckless  example  giving  the  cue  to 
his  teammates. 

I  suppose  the  latter  half  was  about  half  over 
when  the  Sangamon  team  changed  their  tac 
tics  and,  no  longer  content  to  play  safe  and  ex 
change  punts,  sought  to  charge  through  and 
gain  ground  by  sheer  force.  Doubtlessly  their 
decision  was  based  on  sound  principles  of  rea 
son;  but  by  reason  of  certain  insurmountable 
obstacles,  personified  in  eleven  gouging,  wres 
tling,  panting,  sweating  youths,  they  were  ef 
fectually  deterred,  during  a  breathless  period 

of  minutes,  from  so  doing. 

[300] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


It  was  inevitable  that  a  break  must  come 
sooner  or  later.  It  was  not  humanly  possible 
for  any  team  or  any  two  teams  to  maintain 
that  punishing  pace  very  long  without  giving 
way  somewhere. 

The  ball,  after  various  vicissitudes,  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  field,  and  the  Northerners 
had  it.  As  the  Blue  tackles  slipped  back  of 
their  comrades  stealthily,  and  Vretson,  stealing 
forward,  poised  himself  to  take  the  catch,  we 
on  the  press  benches  realised  that  Sangamon 
meant  to  undertake  a  repetition  of  the  device 
that  had  won  her  lone  goal  for  her.  Thirty 
minutes  earlier  it  would  have  seemed  the  logic 
al  move  to  try.  Now,  in  view  of  everything,  it 
was  audacious. 

At  that,  though,  I  guess  it  was  Sangamon's 
best  card,  even  though  Midsylvania  would  be 
forewarned  and  forearmed  by  their  earlier  dis 
astrous  experience  to  take  measures  for  com 
bating  the  play.  Everything  depended  on  get 
ting  Vretson  away  to  a  flying  start  and  then 
keeping  his  interference  intact. 

The  captain  chanted  the  code  numbers.  The 
Blue  press  shifted  in  quick  shuttlelike  motions, 
and  the  ball,  beautifully  and  faultlessly  han 
dled,  was  flipped  back,  aiming  straight  for  Vret- 
son's  welcoming  grasp.  Simultaneously  some 
thing  else  happened.  That  something  else  was 
Morehead. 

As  the  ball  was  passed  he  moved.  There  was 
a  hole  in  Sangamon's  breastworks,  made  by 
[301] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

the  spreading  out  of  her  men.  It  was  a  little 
hole  and  a  hole  which  instantaneously  closed 
up  again,  being  stoppered  by  an  interposing 
torso;  but  in  that  flash  of  space  Morehead  saw 
the  opening  and,  without  being  touched,  came 
whizzing  straight  through  it  like  a  small,  com 
pact  torpedo.  Head  in  and  head  down,  he 
crashed  into  Vretson  in  the  same  tenth-second 
when  the  ball  reached  Vretson's  fingers.  With 
his  skull,  his  shoulders,  his  arms,  and  his  trunk 
he  smashed  against  the  giant. 

Vretson  staggered  sideways.  The  ball  es 
caped  from  his  grip;  and,  striking  the  earth,  it 
took  one  lazy  bound,  and  then  another;  but  no 
more.  As  it  bounced  the  second  time,  More- 
head,  bending  double  from  his  hips,  slid  under 
it  with  outspread  arms,  scooped  it  up  to  his 
breast,  and  was  off,  travelling  faster,  I  am  sure, 
than  Morehead  in  all  his  life  had  ever  travelled. 
He  was  clear  and  away,  going  at  supertopspeed, 
while  Vretson  still  spun  and  rocked  on  his 
heels. 

Obeying  the  signal  for  the  play  the  majority 
of  the  Sangamon  team  already  had  darted  off 
to  their  right  to  make  a  living  barrier  upon  the 
threatened  side  of  the  imaginary  lane  their  star 
was  due  to  follow.  It  behooved  them  to  re 
verse  the  manoeuvre.  Digging  their  heels  into 
the  earth  for  brakes  they  wheeled  round,  scut 
tling  back  and  spreading  out  to  intercept  the 
fugitive;  but  he  was  already  past  and  beyond 
Vretson,  and  nearing  the  line  of  cross-angle 
[302] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


along  which  the  nearest  of  his  pursuers  must 
go  to  encounter  him.  Before  him,  along  the 
eastern  boundary  of  Sangamon's  territory,  was 
a  clear  stretch  of  cross-marked  turf. 

Vretson  recovered  himself  and  made  a  stern 
chase  of  it,  and  Vretson  could  run,  as  I  said  be 
fore;  but  it  would  have  been  as  reasonable  to 
expect  a  Jersey  bull  to  overtake  a  swamp  rab 
bit  when  the  swamp  rabbit  had  the  start  of  the 
bull,  and  was  scared  to  death  besides,  as  to  ex 
pect  Vretson  to  catch  Morehead.  The  Red 
captain  travelled  three  feet  for  every  two  the 
bigger  man  travelled.  Twenty  yards — thirty, 
forty — he  sped,  and  not  a  tackler's  hand  was 
laid  on  him.  With  the  pack  of  his  adversaries 
tagging  out  behind  him  like  hounds  behind  a 
hare,  he  pitched  over  the  goal  line  and  lay 
there,  his  streaming  nose  in  the  grass  roots, 
with  the  precious  ball  under  him,  and  the  San- 
gamon  players  tumbling  over  him  as  they  came 
tailing  up.  Single-handed,  on  a  fluky  chance, 
Morehead  had  duplicated  and  bettered  what 
Vretson,  with  assistance,  had  done. 

The  crowd  simply  went  stark,  raving  crazy 
and  behaved  accordingly.  But  the  Varsity  sec 
tion  in  the  grand  stand  and  the  clump  of  blan- 
ketted  Varsity  substitutes  and  scrubs  on  the 
side  lines  were  the  craziest  spots  of  all. 

After  this  there  isn't  so  very  much  to  be 

told.    Midsylvania  kicked  for  a  goal,  but  failed, 

as  Sangamon  had  done.    The  ball  struck  the 

crossbar  between  the  white  goal  posts  and  flop- 

[303  ] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

ped  back;  and  during  the  few  remaining  min 
utes  of  play  neither  side  tallied  a  point,  though 
both  tried  hard  enough  and  Sangamon  came 
very  near  it  once,  but  failed — thanks  to  the 
same  inspired  counterforces  that  had  balked 
her  in  similar  ambitions  all  through  this  half. 

So,  at  the  end,  with  the  winter  sun  going 
down  red  in  the  west,  and  the  grand  stand  all 
red  with  dancing  flags  to  match  it,  the  score 
stood  even — four  to  four. 

Officially  a  tie,  yes;  but  not  otherwise — not 
by  the  reckoning  of  the  populace.  That  Mid- 
sylvania,  outmanned  and  outweighted  as  she 
was,  should  have  played  those  Middle  West 
champions  to  a  standstill  was,  in  effect,  a  vic 
tory — so  the  crowd  figured — and  fitting  to  be 
celebrated  on  that  basis,  which  promptly  it  was. 

Out  from  the  upstanding  ranks  of  the  mul 
titude,  down  from  the  stand,  across  the  track 
and  into  the  field  came  the  Varsity  students, 
clamouring  their  joy,  and  their  band  came  with 
them,  and  others,  unattached,  came  trailing 
after  them.  Some  were  dancing  dervishes  and 
some  were  human  steam  whistles,  and  all  the 
rest  were  just  plain  lunatics.  They  fell  into  an 
irregular  weaving  formation,  four  or  six  abreast, 
behind  the  team,  with  Morehead  up  ahead,  rid 
ing  upon  the  shoulders  of  two  of  his  fellows; 
and  round  the  gridiron  they  started,  going  first 
between  one  pair  of  goal  posts  and  then  be 
tween  the  other  pair.  Doubtlessly  the  band 
played;  but  what  tune  they  elected  to  play  no- 


CINNAMON      SEED 


body  knew,  because  nobody  could  hear  it — not 
even  the  musicians  themselves. 

As  the  top  of  the  column,  completing  its  first 
circuit,  swung  down  the  gridiron  toward  the 
judges'  stand,  Morehead  pointed  toward  where 
we  sat  and,  from  his  perch  on  their  shoulders, 
called  down  something  to  those  who  bore  him. 
At  that,  a  deputation  of  about  half  a  dozen 
broke  out  of  the  mass  and  charged  straight  for 
us.  For  a  moment  it  must  have  seemed  to  the 
crowd  that  this  detachment  contemplated  a 
physical  assault  upon  some  obnoxious  news 
paper  man  behind  our  bench,  for  they  dived 
right  in  among  us,  laying  hands  upon  one  of 
our  number,  heaving  him  bodily  upward,  and 
bearing  him  away  a  prisoner. 

Half  a  minute  later  Major  Putnam  Stone, 
somewhat  dishevelled  as  to  his  attire,  was  also 
mounted  on  a  double  pair  of  shoulders  and  was 
bobbing  along  at  the  front  of  the  procession, 
side  by  side  with  young  Morehead.  Judging  by 
his  expression,  I  should  say  the  Major  was  en 
joying  the  ride.  Without  knowing  the  whys 
and  the  wherefores  of  it,  the  spectators  derived 
that  in  some  fashion  this  little,  old,  white-haired 
man  was  esteemed  by  Midsylvania's  represen 
tatives  to  have  had  a  share  in  the  achieved  re 
sult. 

As  this  conviction  sank  home,  the  exultant 

yelling   mounted   higher   and   higher   still.      I 

think  it  was  along  here  the  members  of  the 

band  quit  trying  to  be  heard  and  stopped  their 

[  305  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

playing,  and  took  their  horns  down  from  their 
faces. 

Immediately  after  this  still  another  strange 
figure  attained  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  pa 
rade:  A  little  darky,  mad  with  joy,  and  wear 
ing  a  red-and-gray  sweater  much  too  roomy  for 
him,  came  bounding  across  the  field,  with  an 
empty  water  bucket  in  one  hand.  He  caught 
up  with  the  front  row  of  the  marchers;  and, 
scuttling  along  backward,  directly  in  front  of 
them,  he  began  calling  out  certain  words  in  a 
sort  of  slogan,  repeating  them  over  and  over 
again,  until  those  nearest  him  detected  the  pur 
port  of  his  utterances  and  started  chanting 
them  in  time  with  him. 

Presently,  as  the  chorus  of  definite  sounds 
and  the  meaning  of  the  sounds  spread  along 
down  the  column,  the  Varsity  boys  took  up  the 
refrain,  and  it  rose  and  fell  in  a  great,  thunder 
ing  cadence.  And  then  everybody  made  out 
its  substance,  the  words  being  these: 

"Cinnamon  Seed  and  Sandy  Bottom!  Cin 
namon  Seed  and  Sandy  Bottom!  CINNAMON 
SEED  AND  SANDY  BOTTOM!'* 

The  sun,  following  its  usual  custom,  contin 
ued  to  go  down,  growing  redder  and  redder  as 
it  went;  and  Midsylvania,  over  and  above  the 
triumph  it  had  to  celebrate  and  was  celebrating, 
had  also  these  three  things  now  added  unto 
her:  A  new  college  yell,  in  this  perfectly  mean 
ingless  line  from  an  old  song;  a  new  cheer  lead- 
er — her  first,  by  the  way — in  the  person  of  a 
[306] 


CINNAMON      SEED 


ragged  black  water  boy ;  and  a  new  football  idol 
to  take  to  her  heart,  the  same  being  an  elderly 
gentleman  who  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the 
science  of  football,  and  doubtlessly  cared  less — 
an  idol  who  in  the  fullness  of  time  would  be 
come  a  tradition,  to  be  treasured  along  with 
the  noseless  statue  of  Henry  Clay  and  the  beech 
tree  under  which  Daniel  Boone  slept  one  night. 
So  that  explains  why,  each  year  after  the 
main  game,  when  the  team  of  a  bigger  and 
stronger  Midsylvania  have  broken  training, 
they  drink  a  rising  toast  to  the  memory  of  Ma 
jor  Putnam  Stone,  deceased;  whereat,  as  afore- 
stated,  there  are  no  heel-taps  whatsoever. 


[307] 


CHAPTER  IX 
A    KISS    FOR    KINDNESS 


AS    WILL  be  recalled,  it  was  from  the 
lips  of  His  Honour,  Judge  Priest,  that 
I  heard   the  story  relating  to   those 
little  scars  upon  the  legs  of  Mr.  Her 
man  Felsburg.     It  was  from  the  same  source 
that  I  gleaned  certain  details  concerning  the 
manner  of  Mr.  Felsburg's  enlistment  and  ser 
vices  as  a  private  soldier  in  the  Army  of  the 
Confederate  States  of  America;  and  it  is  these 
facts  that  make  up  the  narrative  I  would  now 
relate.    As  Judge  Priest  gave  them  to  me,  with 
occasional  interruptions  by  old  Doctor  Lake,  so 
now  do  I  propose  giving  them  to  you. 

This  tale  I  heard  at  a  rally  in  the  midst  of 
one  of  the  Rryan  campaigns,  back  in  those  good 
days  before  the  automobile  and  the  attached 
cuff  came  in,  while  Bryan  campaigns  were  still 
fashionable  in  the  nation.  It  could  not  have 
been  the  third  Bryan  campaign,  and  I  am 
pretty  sure  it  was  not  the  first  one;  so  it  must 
have  been  the  second  one.  On  second  thought, 
I  am  certain  it  was  the  second  one — when  the 
[  308  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

candidate's  hair  was  still  almost  as  long  in 
front  as  behind. 

By  reason  of  the  free-silver  split  four  years 
earlier,  and  bitter  dissensions  within  the  party 
organization  subsequently,  our  state  had  fallen 
into  the  doubtful  column ;  wherefore,  campaigns 
took  on  even  a  more  hectic  and  feverish  aspect 
than  before.  Of  course  there  was  no  doubt 
about  our  own  district.  Whatever  might  be 
tide,  she  was  safe  and  sound — a  Democratic 
Rock  of  Ages.  "Solid  as  Gibraltar!"  John  C. 
Breckinridge  called  her  once;  and,  taking  the 
name,  a  Gibraltar  she  remained  forever  after, 
piling  up  a  plurality  on  which  the  faithful 
might  mount  and  stand,  even  as  on  a  watch- 
tower  of  the  outer  battlements,  to  observe  the 
struggle  for  those  debatable  counties  to  the 
eastward  and  the  northward  of  us.  It  was  not 
a  question  whether  she  would  give  a  majority 
for  the  ticket,  but  a  question  of  how  big  a  ma 
jority  she  would  give.  Come  to  think  about 
it,  that  was  not  much  of  a  question,  either.  We 
had  sincere  voters  and  competent  compilers  of 
election  returns  down  our  way  then;  and  still 
have,  for  that  matter. 

Nevertheless  and  notwithstanding,  it  was  to 
be  remembered  that,  four  years  before,  the 
bulk  of  the  state's  votes  in  the  Electoral  Col 
lege,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  had  been  re 
corded  for  a  Republican  nominee;  and  so,  with 
a  possibility  of  a  recurrence  of  this  catastrophe 
staring  us  in  the  face,  the  rally  that  was  held 
[309] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

on  that  fine  Indian  summery  day  at  Cold 
Springs,  five  miles  out  from  town  on  the  road 
to  Maxon's  Mills,  assumed  a  scope  and  an  im 
portance  beyond  the  rallies  of  earlier  and  less 
uncertain  times.  It  was  felt  that  by  precept 
and  deed  the  Stalwarts  should  set  an  example 
for  all  wavering  brethren  above  the  river.  So 
there  was  a  parade  through  town  in  the  morn 
ing  and  burgoo  and  a  barbecue  in  the  woods  at 
noon,  and  in  the  afternoon  a  feast  of  oratory, 
with  Congressman  Dabney  Prentiss  to  preside 
and  a  United  States  Senator  from  down  across 
the  line  in  Tennessee  to  deliver  the  principal 
address.  There  was  forethought  in  the  shap 
ing  of  the  programme  thus :  those  who  came  to 
feast  would  remain  to  hear. 

Time  waits  on  no  man,  but  has  an  accommo 
dating  way  of  checking  up  occasionally,  while 
the  seed  pod  of  reminiscence  sprouts  beneath 
the  warm,  rich  humus  of  a  fellow's  memory; 
and,  because  time  does  do  just  this,  I  yet  can 
visualise,  with  sufficient  clarity  for  my  present 
purposes,  some  of  the  things  which  happened 
that  day.  Again  is  my  blood  quickened  by 
sweet  strains  of  music  as  Dean's  Brass  Band 
swings  up  Franklin  Street,  leading  the  proces 
sion  of  the  forenoon. 

Without  serious  mental  strain  I  re-create  the 
picture  of  the  prominent  guests  riding  in  open  car 
riages  with  members  of  the  reception  committee 
and,  behind  them,  the  Young  Men's  Democratic 
Marching  Club  going  afoot,  four  hundred  strong. 


A     KISS     FOR     KINDNESS 

I  see  a  big  four-horse  wagon,  used  ordinarily 
for  such  prosaic  purpose  as  moving  household 
goods,  but  now  with  bunting  and  flags  con 
verted  into  a  tableau  car,  and  bearing  pretty 
girls,  badged  and  labelled  with  the  names  of 
the  several  states  of  the  Union.  And  the  pret 
tiest,  stateliest  girl  of  all  stands  for  Kentucky. 
At  her  side  is  a  little  dark  girl  who  represents 
the  Philippines,  and  accordingly  she  wears  upon 
her  wrists  a  dangling  doubled  loop  of  ironmon 
gery.  This  hardware  is  very  new  and  very 
shiny,  and  its  links  jangle  effectively  as  the 
pageant  moves  onward,  thereby  causing  the 
captive  sister  to  smile  a  gratified  smile  not  al 
together  in  keeping  with  the  lorn  state  of  servi 
tude  here  typified  by  these  trace-chain  manacles 
of  hers. 

It  seems  a  long  time — doesn't  it? — since  Ex 
pansion  was  a  cardinal  issue  and  Imperialism  a 
war  cry,  and  we  were  deeply  concerning  our 
selves  with  the  fate  and  future  of  the  little 
brown  brother,  and  warmly  debating  among 
ourselves  whether  we  should  continue  to  hold 
him  as  a  more  or  less  unwilling  ward  of  the 
nation  or  turn  him  and  his  islands  loose  to  fend 
for  themselves.  But  really,  when  we  cast  up 
the  tally  of  the  intervening  years,  it  isn't  so 
very  long  ago  after  all.  It  is  as  though  this 
might  have  happened  yesterday,  isn't  it? 

So  it  is  with  me — abiding  as  one  of  those 
yesterdays  that  stand  out  from  the  ruck  and 
run  of  yesterdays.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  can 
[311] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

almost  taste  the  dust  which  is  winnowed  up 
from  beneath  the  hoofs  of  the  teams  and  the 
turning  wheels  as  the  crowds  stream  off  out 
the  gravel  turnpike,  bound  for  Cold  Springs. 
Nearly  everybody  of  consequence,  politically 
or  socially,  joins  in  that  hurrying  pilgrimage. 
Like  palmers  of  old,  Judge  Priest  and  Common 
wealth's  Attorney  Flournoy  and  Sheriff  Giles 
Birdsong  and  all  our  district  and  county  and 
city  officials  attend,  to  attest  by  their  presence 
the  faith  that  is  in  them.  I  attend,  too;  but  in 
the  capacity  of  scribe.  I  go  to  report  the  do 
ings  for  the  Daily  Evening  News.  I  am  the 
principal  reporter  and,  by  the  same  token,  one- 
half  of  the  local  staff  of  that  dependable  jour 
nal,  the  remaining  half  being  its  editor  in  chief. 

Time  in  its  flight  continuing  to  turn  back 
ward,  we  are  now  at  Cold  Springs.  Mint-mas 
ter  Jack  Frost  has  been  busy  there  these  last 
few  nights,  so  that  the  leaves  of  the  hickories 
are  changing  from  summer's  long  green  to 
swatches  of  the  crisp  yellow-backed  currency 
of  October.  On  the  snake  fence,  which  sepa 
rates  the  flanks  of  the  woodland  from  the 
cleared  lands  beyond,  the  trumpet  vine  and  the 
creeper  blaze  in  clumps  so  red  that  one  almost 
wonders  the  dried  rails  do  not  catch  fire  too. 

The  smells  of  fall  are  in  the  air — of  corn  in 
the  shock;  of  bruised  winesaps  dropping,  dead 
ripe,  from  the  orchard  trees;  of  fox  grapes  turn 
ing  purple  in  the  vine  canopies  away  up  in  the 
tops  of  the  trees.  From  the  fringes  of  the  grove 


A      KISS      FOR      KINDNESS 

come  the  sounds  of  the  stamping  of  horses'  feet 
and  the  restless  swishing  of  horses'  tails.  Off 
in  quiet  places  a  hundred  flat  flasks  have  been 
uncorked;  in  each  thicket  rendezvous  f ore- 
thought  ed  citizens  are  extending  the  hospital 
ities  of  the  occasion  to  such  as  forgot  to  freight 
their  hip  pockets  before  journeying  hither. 
There  have  been  two  fights  and  one  runaway. 

And  now  it  is  noon  time;  and  now  it  is  half 
an  hour  past  it,  and  the  county  committee, 
with  the  aid  of  the  only  known  Republicans 
present — all  these  latter  being  of  African  de 
scent  and  all,  or  nearly  all,  camp  cooks  of  high 
repute  in  Red  Gravel  County — is  about  to  play 
host  to  the  multitude. 

In  retrospect  I  smell  the  burgoo  a-cooking, 
and  sympathetically  my  mouth  waters.  Do 
you  know  burgoo?  If  not  your  education  has 
been  sadly  neglected — most  woefully  neglected. 
It  is  a  glorified  gumbo,  made  in  copper  caldrons 
over  open  fires;  and  it  contains  red  meats  and 
white  meats,  and  ducks  and  chickens,  and 
young  squirrels,  and  squabs,  and  all  the  fresh 
green  vegetables  in  season.  And  into  it  with 
prodigal  black  hands  the  cooks  put  plenty  of 
tomatoes  for  color  and  potatoes  for  body  and 
red  peppers  for  seasoning  and  onions  for  fla 
vour.  And  all  these  having  stewed  together 
for  hours  and  hours,  they  merge  anon  into  a 
harmonious  and  fragrant  whole.  So  now  the 
product  is  dipped  up  in  ladles  and  bestowed 
upon  the  assemblage  in  tin  cups,  to  be  drunk 

[313] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

after  a  fashion  said  to  have  been  approved  of 
by  Old  Hickory  Jackson  himself.  A  Jefferson- 
ian  simplicity  likewise  governs  the  serving  out 
of  the  barbecued  meats,  following  afterward. 
You  eat  with  the  tools  Nature  has  given  you, 
and  the  back  of  your  hand  is  your  napkin. 
And  when  everybody  is  as  full  of  victuals  as  a 
good  Democrat  should  be — which  is  another 
way  of  saying  so  full  he  cannot  hold  another 
bite  or  another  sup — the  band  plays  and  the 
speaking  starts  on  a  plank  platform  under  a 
brush  arbour,  with  the  audience  sitting  or  stand 
ing — but  mostly  sitting — on  a  fragrant  thick 
matting  of  faded  wild  grasses  and  fallen  red 
and  yellow  leaves. 

The  programme  of  events  having  progressed  to 
this  point,  I  found  my  professional  duties  over 
for  the  day.  The  two  principal  speeches  were 
already  in  type  at  the  Daily  Evening  News 
office,  advance  copies  having  been  furnished 
by  Congressman  Prentiss  and  the  visiting  Sena 
tor  from  Tennessee,  the  authors  of  the  same. 
By  special  messenger  I  had  transmitted  brief 
dispatches  touching  on  the  complete  and  un 
qualified  success  of  the  burgoo,  the  barbecue, 
the  two  fist  fights  and  the  runaway. 

Returning  from  the  fringes  of  the  woodland, 
after  confiding  my  scribbled  advices  to  our 
courier,  my  way  led  me  under  the  shoulder  of 
the  bluff  above  Cold  Springs.  There,  right 
where  the  water  came  seeping  out  through  the 

bank  of  tawny  gravel,  I  came  upon  a  picture 

___ 


A     KISS     FOR     KINDNESS 

which  is  one  of  the  pictures  that  have  endured 
in  reasonably  vivid  colours  on  the  background 
of  my  mind. 

The  bole  of  an  uptorn  gum  tree  spanned  a 
half -moon  depression  at  the  verge  of  the  spring. 
Upon  the  butt  end  of  the  log,  where  an  up 
ended  snag  of  root  made  a  natural  rest  for  his 
broad  back,  was  perched  Judge  Priest.  His 
plump  legs  hugged  the  rounded  trunk.  In  one 
hand  he  held  a  pint  flask  and  in  the  other  a  tin 
cup,  which  lately  must  have  contained  bur 
goo.  A  short  distance  down  the  tree  from  him 
sat  old  Doctor  Lake,  without  any  bottle,  but 
with  the  twin  to  Judge  Priest's  tin  cup  poised 
accurately  upon  one  of  his  bony  knees. 

Behind  these  two,  snugly  screening  them  in, 
was  a  wall  of  green  and  yellow  grape  leaves. 
Through  the  vines  the  sunlight  filtered  in,  to 
make  a  mellow  flood  about  them.  Through 
the  leaves,  also,  came  distantly  the  sound  of 
the  present  speaker's  voice  and,  at  frequent  in 
tervals,  cheering.  There  was  to  be  heard  a 
gentle  tinkling  of  cracked  ice.  A  persuasive 
odour  of  corn  distillations  perfumed  the  lan 
guid  air.  All  through  the  glade  nuts  were 
dropping  from  the  hickories,  with  sharp  little 
reports.  It  was  a  picture,  all  right  enough! 

My  feet  made  rustlings  in  the  leaves.  Judge 
Priest  squinted  over  his  glasses  to  see  who  the 
intruder  upon  their  woodland  privacy  might  be. 

"Why,  howdy,  son!"  he  hailed.  "How's 
everything  with  you?" 

[315] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

He  didn't  offer  to  share  his  store  of  refresh 
ment  with  me.  I  never  knew  him  to  give  a 
very  young  man  a  drink  or  to  accept  a  drink 
from  such  a  one.  Doctor  Lake  raised  his  cup 
to  stir  its  contents  and  nodded  in  my  direction 
over  it. 

"The  big  speech  of  the  day  has  just  got 
started  good,  gentlemen,"  I  said.  "Didn't  you- 
all  know  it?" 

"Yes;  we  knowed  it,"  answered  the  old 
Judge;  "in  fact,  we  heared  the  beginnin*  of  it. 
That's  one  reason  why  me  and  Lew  Lake  come 
on  away.  The  other  reason  was  that  Lew  run 
acrost  a  little  patch  of  late  mint  down  here  by 
the  spring.  So  we  slipped  off  frum  the  crowd 
and  come  on  down  here  to  sort  of  take  things 
nice  and  easy  till  it  gits  time  to  be  startin'  back 
toward  the  city." 

"  Why,  I  thought  he  was  a  mighty  fine  speak 
er,  from  what  I  heard  right  after  Mr.  Prentiss 
introduced  him,"  I  said. 

"He's  all  of  that,"  assented  the  old  Judge; 
"he's  a  regular  Cicero — seems  to  know  this 
here  oratory  business  frum  who  laid  the  rail. 
He  don't  never  jest  plain  ast  somebody  to  do 
somethin'.  He  adjures  'em  by  the  altars  of 
their  Sunny  Southland,  and  he  beseeches  'em 
by  the  memories  of  their  sires;  but  he  don't  ast 
'em.  And  I  took  notice,  durin'  the  few  min 
utes  I  lingered  on — spellbound,  ez  you  mout 
say,  by  the  witchery  of  his  voice — that  when 
he  gits  holt  of  a  good  long  word  it  ain't  a  word 
[316] 


A     KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

no  more.  He  runs  her  as  a  serial  and  every 
syllable  is  a  separate  chapter. 

"Oh,  no;  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say  ag'inst 
the  distinguished  gentleman's  style  of  delivery. 
I  only  wisht  I  had  his  gift  of  melodious  expres 
sion.  I  reckin  ef  I  did,  I'd  talk  in  public  part 
of  the  day  and  sing  the  rest  of  the  time.  But 
the  p'int  is,  son,  that  me  and  Lew  Lake  have 
heared  consid'able  of  that  particular  brand  of 
oratory  in  our  day,  and  after  a  little  spell  of  lis- 
tenin'  we  decided  betwixt  ourselves  that  we 
favoured  the  quiet  of  the  sylvan  dell  to  the 
heat  and  dust  of  the  forum.  So  here  we  are, 
ez  you  behold  us. 

"One  speech  mere  or  less  won't  make  much 
difference  in  the  gineral  results,  noways,  I  reck- 
in.  Down  here  in  the  pennyrile  country  we'll 
all  vote  the  regular  ticket  the  same  ez  we  al 
ways  do;  and  the  Republikans  will  vote  their 
ticket,  bein'  the  stubborn  unreasonable  crea 
tures  that  they  are;  and  then  our  boys'll  hold 
back  the  returns  to  see  how  many  Democrat 
votes  are  needed,  and  up  in  the  mountains  the 
Republikans  will  hold  theirn  back  to  see  how 
many  Republikan  votes  are  needed — and  that'll 
be  the  whole  upshot  of  it,  onless  the  corrupt 
scoundrels  should  succeed  in  outcounting  the 
party  of  the  people. 

"Of   course   there's   a  great  crisis   hoverin' 

over  our  country  at  present.     There's  a  crisis 

hoverin'  every  four  years,  regular — to  hear  the 

orators  tell  it.    But  I've  took  notice  that,  after 

[317] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

the  votin'  is  over,  the  crisis  always  goes  back 
in  its  hole  to  stay  till  the  next  presidential 
election,  and  the  country  remains  reasonably 
safe,  no  matter  which  side  gits  in;  though  I  ad 
mit  it's  purty  hard  to  convince  the  feller  who's 
already  got  a  government  job,  or  hopes  to  git 
one,  that  the  whole  nation  won't  plumb  go  to 
thunder  onless  his  crowd  wins." 

"Still,  Billy,"  put  in  Doctor  Lake,  "there 
was  a  time  when  all  these  high  -  sounding 
phrases  about  duty  and  patriotism  meant  more 
to  us  than  they  do  now — back  in  the  spring 
and  summer  of  Sixty-one — eh?" 

Behind  the  Judge's  spectacle  lenses  sparks  of 
reminiscence  burned  in  his  faded  blue  eyes.  He 
lifted  his  cup  ceremoniously  and  Doctor  Lake 
lifted  his,  and  I  knew  they  were  drinking  to  the 
memory  of  olden  days. 

"Now  you're  shoutin'!"  Judge  Priest  as 
sented.  "Say,  Lew,  do  you  call  to  mind  them 
speeches  Hector  Dallas  used  to  utter  'way  back 
yonder,  when  Sumter  was  bein'  fired  on  and 
the  Yankee  Government  was  callin'  fur  troops 
to  put  down  the  Rebellion,  ez  they  seen  fit  to 
term  it?  Heck  Dallas  was  our  champion  home 
grown  orator  in  those  times,"  he  vouchsafed  in 
an  aside  for  my  better  enlightenment.  "Some- 
thin'  about  that  young  feller  yonder,  that's 
speakin'  so  brilliantly  and  so  fluently  now,  puts 
me  right  smartly  in  mind  of  him.  Heck  was 
plenty  copious  with  language  himself.  When  it 
come  to  burnin'  words  he  was  jest  the  same 
[318] 


A      KISS      FOR      KINDNESS 

ez  one  of  these  here  volcanoes.  Remember, 
don't  you,  Lew,  how  willin'  Heck  was  to  bleed 
and  die  fur  his  native  land?" 

"But  he  didn't,"  stated  Doctor  Lake 
grimly. 

"Well — since  you  mention  it — not  to  any 
noticeable  extent,"  said  Judge  Priest.  "Least 
wise,  any  bleedin'  that  he  done  was  done  in 
ternally,  frum  the  strain  of  utterin'  all  them 
fiery  remarks."  Again  he  included  me  with  a 
gesture.  "You  see,  son,  Heck  didn't  go  off  to 
the  war  with  the  rest  of  us.  Nearly  everybody 
else  did — this  town  was  purty  near  emptied  of 
young  fellers  of  a  suitable  courtin'  age  after 
we'd  gone  down  to  Camp  Boone  to  begin  drill- 
in'.  But  Hecky  didn't  go. 

"Ez  I  recollect,  he  felt  called  upon  to  put 
out  first  fur  Richmond  to  give  President  Davis 
and  the  Cabinet  the  benefit  of  his  advice  or 
somethin';  and  aimed  to  join  us  later.  But  he 
didn't — somehow,  somethin'  always  kept  inter- 
ferin'  with  his  ambition  to  bleed  and  die,  until 
after  a  while  it  seemed  like  he  jest  got  discour 
aged  and  quit  tryin'.  When  we  got  back  home, 
four  years  later — sech  ez  was  left  of  us — Heck 
had  done  been  entirely  reconstructed  and  was 
fixin'  to  run  fur  office  on  the  Black  Radical 
ticket." 

"The  cat  had  to  jump  mighty  brisk  to  beat 
Hector,"  said  Doctor  Lake;  "or  else,  when  she 
landed  on  the  other  side,  she'd  find  him  already 
there,  warming  a  place  for  her.  I've  known  a 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

good  many  like  Hector — and  some  of  them 
prospered  fairly  well — while  they  lasted." 

"Well,  the  spring  of  Sixty-one  was  a  stirrin* 
period,  and  I  reckin  oratory  helped  along  right 
smartly  at  the  start,"  said  Judge  Priest; 
"though,  to  be  sure,  later  on  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  boys  who  could  go  hongry  and  ragged, 
and  still  keep  on  fightin5  the  Yankees,  were  the 
ones  that  really  counted. 

"Take  Meri wether  Grider  now:  He  went  in 
as  our  company  commander  and  he  come  out 
with  the  marks  of  a  brigadier  on  his  coat  col 
lar;  but  I'll  bet  you  a  ginger  cookie  Meriwether 
Grider  never  said  a  hundred  words  on  a  stretch 
in  his  life  without  he  was  cussin'  out  some  fel 
ler  fur  not  doin'  his  duty.  Meriwether  certain 
ly  learned  to  cuss  mighty  well  fur  a  man  whose 
early  trainin'  had  been  so  turribly  neglected  in 
that  respect." 

"Recall  how  Meriwether  Grider  behaved  the 
night  we  organised  Company  B?"  inquired 
Doctor  Lake. 

"Jest  the  same  ez  ef  it  was  yistiddy!"  as 
sented  Judge  Priest. 

He  half  turned  his  chubby  body  so  as  to  face 
me.  By  now  I  was  sitting  on  the  log  between 
them.  I  had  scented  a  story  and  I  craved 
mightily  to  hear  it,  though  I  never  dreamed 
that  some  day  I  should  be  writing  it  out. 

"You  see,  boy,  it  was  like  this:  Upstate  the 
sentiment  was  purty  evenly  divided  betwixt 
stayin'  in  the  Union  and  goin'  out  of  it;  but 
[  320] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

down  here,  in  Red  Gravel  County,  practically 
everybody  was  set  one  way — so  much  one  way 
that  they  took  to  callin'  our  town  Little  Charles 
ton,  and  spoke  of  this  here  Congressional  Dis 
trict  as  the  South  Carolina  of  the  West.  Ez 
state  after  state  went  out,  the  feelin'  got  warm 
er  and  warmer;  but  the  leaders  of  public  opin 
ion,  all  except  Heck  Dallas,  counselled  holdin' 
off  till  the  legislature  could  act.  Heck,  he  was 
for  crossin'  over  into  Illinois  some  nice  pleasant 
dark  night  and  killin'  off  the  Abolitionists, 
though  at  that  time  of  speakin'  there  weren't 
many  more  Abolitionists  livin*  on  that  side  of 
the  river  than  there  were  on  this.  That  was 
merely  Heck's  way  of  expressin'  his  convic 
tions. 

"In  spite  of  his  desires,  we  kept  on  waitin'. 
But  when  word  come  from  Frankfort  that  the 
legislature,  by  a  mighty  clost  vote,  had  voted 
down  the  Secession  Ordinance  and  had  declared 
fur  armed  neutrality — which  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  joke,  seein'  ez  everybody  in  the  state  who 
was  old  enough  to  tote  a  fusee  was  already 
armed  and  couldn't  be  a  neutral — why,  down  in 
this  neck  of  the  woods  we  didn't  wait  no  longer. 

"Out  of  the  front  window  of  his  printin'  of 
fice  old  Colonel  Noble  h'isted  the  first  Confed 
erate  flag  seen  in  these  parts;  and  that  night, 
at  the  old  market  house,  there  was  the  biggest 
mass  meetin'  that  ever  had  been  held  in  this 
here  town  up  to  then.  A  few  young  fellers  had 
already  slid  down  acrost  the  border  into  Ten- 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

nessee  to  enlist,  and  a  few  more  were  already 
over  in  Virginia,  wearin'  the  grey;  but  every 
body  else  that  was  anybody  was  there. 

"Right  away  Heck  took  the  platform. 
They'd  'a'  had  to  lock  it  up  somewheres  to  keep 
him  frum  takin'  it.  He  was  up  on  one  of  them 
market  benches,  wavin'  his  arms  and  spoutin' 
about  the  mudsills  and  the  nigger  lovers,  and 
jest  darin*  the  accursed  invader  to  put  one  heel 
upon  the  sacred  soil  of  the  grand  old  Common 
wealth — not  both  his  heels,  but  ary  one  of  'em 
— when  all  of  a  sudden  Meriwether  Grider 
leaned  over  and  kissed  his  wife — he  hadn't  been 
married  but  a  little  more'n  a  year  and  they 
had  a  baby  about  three  weeks  old  at  home. 
And  then  he  stepped  forward  and  climbed  up 
on  the  bench  and  sort  of  shoved  Heck  to  one 
side,  and  called  out  that  there'd  been  enough 
talk,  and  that  it  was  about  time  for  action;  and 
said,  ef  somebody  had  a  piece  of  paper  handy, 
he'd  like  mightily  to  put  his  name  down  as  a 
volunteer  fur  the  Southern  Army.  And  in  an 
other  second  every  woman  there  was  cheerin' 
with  one  side  of  her  mouth  and  cryin'  with  the 
other. 

"And  Colonel  Noble  had  fetched  his  flag  up 
and  was  wavin'  it  with  both  hands;  and  old 
Doctor  Hendrickson,  the  Presbyterian  preach 
er,  had  made  a  prayer — a  heap  shorter  one 
than  whut  he  ginerally  made — and  had  yanked 
a  little  pocket  Testament  out  frum  under  his 
coattails  fur  the  boys  to  take  the  oath  on.  And 
[  322  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

in  less'n  no  time  Heck  Dallas  was  back  down 
in  the  crowd,  in  considerable  danger  of  being 
trompled  to  death  in  the  rush  of  young  fellers 
to  git  up  there  and  sign  their  names  to  the 
roll." 

Doctor  Lake  slid  off  the  log  and  stood  up, 
with  his  black  hat  crumpled  in  one  gnarled  old 
hand.  In  the  emotion  of  the  moment  he  for 
got  his  grammar: 

"You  remember,  Billy — don't  you? — how  you 
and  me  and  Peter  J.  Galloway  and  little  Gil 
Nicholas  went  up  together  to  sign?" 

"I  ain't  exactly  liable  to  furgit  it,  ever," 
said  Judge  Priest.  "That  was  the  night  I  jest 
natchelly  walked  off  and  left  my  little  law  office 
flat  on  its  back.  I'd  been  advertisin'  myself  to 
practise  law  fur  about  a  year,  but  whut  I'd 
mainly  practised  up  to  that  time  was  economy 
— that  and  checkers  and  old  sledge,  to  help  pass 
away  the  time.  No,  suh;  I  didn't  leave  no 
clients  behind  me,  clamourin'  fur  my  profes 
sional  services.  Clients  were  something  I'd 
heared  a  lot  of  talk  about,  but  hadn't  met  face 
to  face.  All  I  had  to  do  when  I  quit  was  jest 
to  put  out  the  fire  and  shut  the  door,  and  come 
on  away." 

"And  the  last  one  of  all  to  sign  that  night 
was  Herman  Felsburg,"  stated  Doctor  Lake,  as 
though  desirous  of  rounding  out  a  recital. 

"Yes — that's  rjght  too,  Lew,"  agreed  the  old 
Judge.  "Herman  was  the  very  last  one.  I  re- 
member  how  some  of  the  crowd  begun  snick- 
[  323  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

erin'  when  he  come  stumpin'  up  on  them  crook- 
etty  little  laigs  of  hisn;  but  the  snickerin'  died 
out  when  Meriwether  Grider  grabbed  Herman's 
hand  and  shook  it,  and  Doctor  Hendrickson 
held  out  the  Book  fur  him  to  swear  on  it  to  be 
true  and  faithful  to  the  cause  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  A  person  don't  snicker  so  very 
well  that's  got  a  lump  in  his  throat  at  the  mo 
ment. 

"You  see,  son,  Herman  was  a  kind  of  town 
joke  them  days,"  stated  Judge  Priest,  again 
digressing  for  my  benefit.  "There  weren't 
many  furreign-born  people  in  this  section  back 
yonder  in  Sixty-one.  Ef  a  feller  come  along 
that  was  frum  Greece  or  Italy  or  Spain,  or 
somewheres  else  down  that  way,  we  jest  called 
him  a  Dago,  dry-so — and  let  it  go  at  that. 
But  ef  he  hailed  from  Germany  or  Holland  or 
Russia,  or  anywhere  in  Northern  Europe,  he 
was  a  Dutchman  to  us. 

"There  were  just  two  exceptions  to  the  rule: 
An  Irishman  was  an  Irishman,  of  course;  and  a 
Jew  was  a  Jew.  We  had  a  few  Irish  families  in 
town,  like  the  Galloways  and  the  Hallorans; 
and  there  was  one  Jewish  family  livin'  here — 
the  Liebers;  but  they'd  all  been  born  in  this 
country  and  didn't  speak  nothin'  but  English, 
and,  exceptin'  that  old  man  Lieber  used  to  close 
up  his  hide-and-pelt  store  of  a  Sad'day,  instid 
of  Sunday,  it  never  occurred  to  anybody  that 
the  Liebers  practised  a  different  religion  frum 

the  run  of  folks. 

[  324  ] 


A     KISS     FOR     KINDNESS 

"Herman  had  been  here  about  a  year,  off 
and  on.  He  didn't  seem  to  know  nobody,  and 
he  didn't  have  any  friends.  He  wasn't  more'n 
nineteen  years  old — or  maybe  twenty;  and  he 
was  shy  and  awkward  and  homely.  He  used 
to  go  out  through  the  county  with  a  pack  on 
his  back,  sellin'  gimcracks  to  country  people. 
He  could  make  change  all  right — I  reckin  he 
jest  natchelly  inherited  that  ez  a  gift — and  he 
was  smart  enough  at  drivin'  a  bargain;  but 
somehow  it  seemed  like  he  jest  couldn't  learn 
to  talk  English,  or  to  understand  it,  neither,  ex- 
ceptin'  when  the  subject  was  business.  Under 
stand,  that  was  thirty-odd  years  back;  but 
sometimes,  even  now,  when  old  Herman  gits 
excited,  you'd  think,  to  hear  him,  that  he  didn't 
know  much  English  yit.  His  language  matches 
the  shape  of  his  laigs  then." 

I  nodded  understandingly,  Mr.  Felsburg's 
conversational  eccentricities  being  a  constant 
fount  of  material  for  the  town  humourists  of 
my  own  generation.  The  Judge  went  on: 

"Well,  anyway,  he  signed  up  that  night, 
along  with  all  the  rest  of  us.  And  after  that, 
fur  a  few  days,  so  many  things  was  happenin' 
that  I  sort  of  forgot  about  him;  and  I  reckin 
nearly  everybody  else  did  too.  It  seemed  like 
the  whole  town  sort  of  went  crazy  fur  a  spell, 
whut  with  the  first  company,  which  was  our 
company,  electin'  its  officers,  and  the  County 
Battery  formin',  and  a  troop  of  cavalry  organ- 
isin',  and  the  older  men  enrollin'  fur  home  de- 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

fence,  and  a  lot  of  big-mouth  fellers  standin' 
round  on  street  corners  'lowin'  as  how  it  was 
goin'  to  be  only  a  ninety-day  picnic,  anyway, 
and  that  any  Southern  man  could  whip  five 
Yankees — and  so  forth  and  so  on. 

"And  then  we'd  go  home  at  night  and  find 
our  mothers  and  sisters  settin'  round  a  coal-oil 
lamp,  makin'  our  new  grey  uniforms,  and  sew- 
in'  a  tear  in  with  every  stitch.  And  every  fel 
ler's  sweetheart  was  makin'  him  a  silk  sash  to 
wear  round  his  waist.  I  could  git  a  sash  round 
my  waist  then,  but  I  s'pose  if  I  felt  called  on 
to  wear  one  now  I'd  have  to  hire  old  man  Dil 
lon,  the  mattress  maker,  to  make  one  fur  me 
out  of  a  roll  of  bedtickin'."  And  the  speaker 
glanced  downward  toward  the  bulge  of  his 
girth. 

"My  mother  kept  telling  me  that  it  would 
kill  her  for  me  to  go — and  that  she'd  kill  me  if 
I  didn't  go,"  interpolated  Doctor  Lake. 

"I  reckin  no  set  of  men  on  this  earth  ever 
went  out  to  fight  with  the  right  sort  of  spirit  in 
'em  onless  their  womenfolk  stood  behind  'em, 
biddin'  'em  to  go,"  said  the  old  Judge.  "That's 
the  way  it  was  with  us,  anyway — I  know  that 
much.  Well  then,  right  on  top  of  everything 
else,  along  come  the  big  ball  they  gave  us  at 
the  Richland  House  the  night  before  we  left 
fur  Camp  Boone  to  be  mustered  in,  regular 
fashion.  There  wasn't  any  absentees  there  that 
night — not  a  single  solitary  one.  They'd  'a* 
had  to  tie  me  hand  and  foot  to  keep  me  frum 
[  326  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

comin5  there  to  show  off  my  new  grey  suit  and 
my  red-striped  sash  and  all  my  brass  buttons. 

"Fur  oncet,  social  lines  didn't  count.  That 
night  the  best  families  mixed  with  all  the  other 
families  that  was  mebbe  jest  as  good,  but  didn't 
know  it.  Peter  Galloway's  old  daddy  drove  a 
dray  down  on  the  levee  and  his  mother  took 
in  washin',  but  before  the  ball  broke  up  I  seen 
old  Mrs.  Galloway  with  both  her  arms  round 
Mrs.  Governor  Trimble,  and  Mrs.  Governor 
Trimble  had  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Galloway, 
and  both  of  'em  cryin'  together,  the  way  women 
like  to  do.  The  Trimbles  were  sending  three 
sons;  but  old  Mrs.  Galloway  was  givin'  up 
Peter,  and  he  was  all  the  boy  she  had. 

"We  danced  till  purty  near  sunup,  stoppin' 
only  oncet,  and  then  jest  long  enough  fur  'em 
to  present  Captain  Meriwether  Grider  with  his 
new  gold-mounted  sword.  You  remember,  Lew, 
we  buried  that  sword  in  the  same  coffin  with 
him  fifteen  years  later? 

"About  four  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  when 
the  first  of  the  daylight  was  beginnin'  to  leak 
in  at  the  winders,  the  nigger  string  band  in  the 
corner  struck  up  Home,  Sweet  Home!  We 
took  partners,  but  that  was  one  dance  which 
never  was  finished. 

"All  of  a  sudden  that  sassy  little  red-headed 
Janie  Thornbury  stopped  dead-still  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  she  flung  both  arms 
round  the  neck  of  Garrett  Hinton,  that  she 
was  engaged  to  marry,  but  didn't — on  account 
[327] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

of  her  marryin'  somebody  else  while  Garry 
was  off  soldierin' — and,  before  everybody,  she 
kissed  him  right  smack  on  the  mouth! 

"And  then,  in  less'n  no  time  at  all,  every  fel 
ler  in  the  company  had  his  arms  round  his 
sweetheart  or  his  sister,  or  mebbe  his  mother, 
and  kisses  were  goin'  off  all  over  that  old  ball 
room  like  paper  bags  a-bustin'.  I  fergit  now- 
who  'twas  I  kissed;  but,  to  the  best  of  my 
recollection,  I  jest  browsed  round  and  done 
quite  a  passel  of  promiscuous  kissin'." 

"I'll  never  forget  the  one  I  kissed!"  broke  in 
Doctor  Lake.  "With  the  exception  of  the  en 
suing  four  years,  I've  been  kissing  the  same 
girl  ever  since.  She  hefts  a  little  more  than  she 
did  then — those  times  you  could  mighty  near 
lock  a  gold  bracelet  round  her  waist,  and  many's 
the  time  I  spanned  it  with  my  two  hands — and 
she's  considerably  older;  but  her  kisses  still 
taste  mighty  sweet  to  me!" 

"Go  'way,  Lew  Lake!"  protested  Judge 
Priest  gallantly.  "Miss  Mamie  Ellen  is  jest  ez 
young  ez  ever  she  was;  and  she's  sweeter,  too, 
because  there's  more  of  her  to  be  sweet.  I 
drink  to  her!" 

Two  tin  cups  rose  in  swinging  circles;  and  I 
knew  these  old  men  were  toasting  a  certain  ma 
tron  of  my  acquaintance  who  weighed  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  if  she  weighed  a  pound,  and  had 
white  hair  and  sizable  grandchildren. 

"And  so  then" — Judge  Priest  was  resuming 
his  narration — "and  so  then,  after  a  spell,  the 
[328  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

epidemic  of  kissin'  began  to  sorter  die  down, 
though  I  reckin  some  of  the  boys  would  'a' 
been  willin'  to  keep  it  up  plumb  till  breakfast 
time.  I  mind  how  I  was  standin'  off  to  one 
side,  fixin'  to  make  my  farewells  to  Miss  Sally 
Machen,  when  out  of  the  tail  of  my  off  eye  I 
seen  little  Herman  Felsburg,  over  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ballroom,  lookin'  powerful  forlorn 
and  lonesome  and  neglected. 

"Doubtless  he'd  been  there  all  night,  with 
out  a  soul  to  dance  with  him,  even  ef  he'd 
knowed  how,  or  a  soul  to  speak  with  him,  even 
ef  he  could  have  understood  whut  they  said  to 
him.  Doubtless  he  wasn't  exactly  whut  you'd 
call  happy.  Jest  about  then  Miss  Sally  Machen 
must  'a'  seen  him  too;  and  the  same  thought  that 
had  jest  come  to  me  must  'a'  come  to  her  too. 

"  'It's  a  shame!'  she  said — jest  like  that — 
under  her  voice.  And  in  another  minute  she 
was  walkin*  acrost  the  floor  toward  Herman. 

"I  remember  jest  how  she  looked.  Why,  ef 
I  was  an  artist  I  could  draw  a  picture  of  her 
right  now!  She  was  the  handsomest  girl  in 
town,  and  the  proudest  and  the  stateliest — tall 
and  slender  and  dark,  with  great  big  black  eyes, 
and  a  skin  like  one  of  these  here  magnolia  buds 
— and  she  was  well  off  in  her  own  name;  and 
she  belonged  to  a  leadin'  family.  Four  or  five 
boys  were  beauin'  her,  and  it  was  a  question 
which  one  of  'em  she'd  marry.  Sometimes, 
Lew,  I  think  they  don't  raise  very  many  girls 

like  Miss  Sally  Machen  any  more. 

[329] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Well,  she  kept  right  on  goin'  till  she  came 
to  where  Herman  was  scrouged  up  ag'inst  the 
wall.  She  didn't  say  a  word  to  him,  but  she 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  right  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  where  everybody 
could  see;  and  then  she  put  those  white  arms 
of  hers  round  his  neck,  with  the  gold  bracelets 
on  her  wrists  jinglin',  and  she  bent  down  to 
him — she  had  to  bend  down,  bein'  a  whole 
head  taller  than  whut  he  was — and  she  kissed 
him  on  the  lips;  not  a  sweetheartin'  kiss,  but 
the  way  his  own  mother  might  'a'  kissed  him 
good-bye,  ef  he'd  had  a  mother  and  she'd  been 
there. 

"Some  few  started  in  to  laugh,  but  stopped 
off  short;  and  some  started  to  cheer,  but  didn't 
do  that,  neither.  We-all  jest  stood  and  watched 
them  two.  Herman's  face  turn't  ez  red  ez 
blood;  and  he  looked  up  at  her  sideways  and 
started  to  smile  that  funny  little  smile  of  hisn 
— he  had  one  front  tooth  missin',  and  that 
made  it  funnier  still.  But  then  his  face  got 
serious,  and  frum  clear  halfway  acrost  the  hall 
I  could  see  his  eyes  were  wet.  He  backed  off 
frum  her  and  bowed  purty  near  to  the  ground 
before  her.  And  frum  the  way  he  done  it  I 
knowed  he  was  somethin'  more  than  jest  a  lit 
tle,  strange  Jew  pedlar  in  a  strange  land.  You 
have  to  have  the  makiri's  of  a  gentleman  in 
you  to  bow  like  that.  You  mout  learn  it  in 
time,  with  diligent  practice,  but  it  comes  a 
sight  easier  ef  you're  born  with  it  in  you." 
[  330  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

From  his  flat  flask  the  old  Judge  toned  up 
the  contents  of  their  julep  cups.  Then,  with 
pauses,  during  which  he  took  delicate  but  pro 
longed  sips,  he  spoke  on  in  the  rambling,  con 
templative  fashion  that  was  as  much  a  part  of 
him  as  his  trick  of  ungrammatical  speech  or  his 
high  bald  forehead  was,  or  his  wagging  white 
chin-beard : 

"Well,  purty  soon  after  that  we  were  all 
down  yonder  at  old  Camp  Boone,  and  chiefly 
engaged,  in  our  leisure  hours — which  we  had 
blamed  few  leisure  hours,  at  that — in  figurin' 
out  the  difference  between  talkin'  about  sol- 
dierin'  and  braggin'  about  it,  and  actually  doin' 
of  it.  There  wasn't  no  more  dancin'  of  quad 
rilles  with  purty  girls  then.  We  done  our  grand 
right-and-left  with  knapsacks  on  our  backs  and 
blisters  on  our  feet.  Many  and  many  a  feller 
that  had  signed  up  to  be  a  hero  made  the  dis- 
tressin'  discovery  that  he'd  really  j'ined  on  to 
do  day  labour  fur  mighty  small  pay  in  paper 
money,  and  monstrous  slim  pickin's  in  the  way 
of  vittles.  Whut  with  drillin',  and  foragin' 
round  fur  enough  to  eat,  and  gittin'  seasoned, 
and  fallin'  sick  and  gittin'  well  ag'in,  and  learn- 
in'  how  to  use  our  guns — such  of  us  ez  had 
'em,  because  there  wasn't  more'n  half  enough 
muskets  to  go  round  and  we  used  to  have  to 
take  turns  usin'  'em — we  kept  real  busy  fur 
about  sixteen  to  eighteen  hours  a  day,  includ- 
in'  week  days  and  Sundays. 

"All  this  time  little  old  Herman  was  doin' 
[331] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

his  share  like  a  major.  Long  before  he  could 
make  out  the  words  of  command,  he'd  picked 
up  the  manual  of  arms,  jest  frum  watchin'  the 
others  in  the  same  awkward  squad  with  him. 
He  was  peart  enough  that-a-way.  Where  he 
was  slow  was  learnin'  how  to  talk  so  ez  you 
could  make  out  whut  he  was  aimin'  to  say.  It 
seemed  like  that  was  the  only  slow  thing  about 
him. 

"Natchelly  the  boys  poked  a  heap  of  fun  at 
him.  They  kept  prankin'  with  him  constant 
ly.  But  he  taken  it  all  in  good  part  and  grin 
ned  back  at  'em,  and  never  seemed  to  lose  his 
holt  on  his  temper.  You  jest  couldn't  help 
likin'  him — only  he  did  cut  such  funny  mon- 
keyshines  with  the  Queen's  English  when  he 
tried  to  talk! 

"Because  he  was  so  good-natured,  some  of 
the  boys  took  it  into  their  heads,  I  reckin,  that 
he  didn't  have  no  real  grit;  or  mebbe  they 
thought  he  wasn't  spunky  because  he  was  a 
Jew.  That's  a  delusion  which  a  good  many 
suffer  frum  that  don't  know  his  race. 

"I  remember  one  night,  about  three  weeks 
or  a  month  after  we  went  into  camp,  Herman 
was  put  on  post.  The  sergeant  mighty  near 
lost  his  mind,  and  did  lose  his  disposition,  drill- 
in'  the  countersign  and  the  password  into  Her 
man's  skull.  So  a  couple  of  boys  out  of  the 
Galloway  County  company — they  called  them 
selves  the  Blood  River  Tigers,  and  were  a 
purty  wild  and  devilish  lot  of  young  colts 
[  332  ] 


A      KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

ginerally — they  took  it  into  their  heads  that 
after  it  got  good  and  dark  they'd  slip  down  to 
the  lines  and  sneak  up  on  Herman,  unbe 
knownst  to  him,  and  give  him  a  good  skeer, 
and  mebbe  take  his  piece  away  from  him — sort 
of  play  hoss  with  him,  ginerally.  So,  'long 
about  'leven  o'clock  they  set  out  to  do  so." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Doctor  Lake,  grin 
ning.  I  couldn't  hold  in. 

"What  happened?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  nothin'  much,"  said  Judge  Priest — "ex- 
ceptin'  that  presently  there  was  a  loud  report 
and  consider'ble  many  loud  cries;  and  when  the 
corporal  of  the  guard  got  there  with  a  squad, 
one  of  them  Calloway  County  boys  was  layin' 
on  the  ground  with  a  hole  through  his  right 
shoulder,  and  the  other  was  layin'  alongside  of 
him  right  smartly  clubbed  up  with  the  butt 
end  of  a  rifle.  And  Herman  was  standin'  over 
'em,  jabberin'  in  German — he'd  forgot  whut 
little  English  he  knowed.  But  you  could  tell 
frum  the  way  he  carried  on  that  he  was  jest 
double-dog  darin'  'em  to  move  an  inch.  I 
don't  believe  in  my  whole  life  I  ever  seen  two 
fellers  that  looked  so  out  of  the  notion  of  play- 
in'  practical  jokes  as  them  two  Blood  River 
Tigers  did.  They  were  plumb  sick  of  Herman, 
too — you  could  tell  that  frum  a  mere  glance  at 
'em  ez  we  toted  'em  in  and  sent  for  the  surgeon 
to  patch  'em  up. 

"So,  after  that,  the  desire  to  prank  with  Pri- 
vate  Felsburg  when  he  was  on  duty  sort  of  Ian- 
[  333  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

guished  away.  Then,  when  Herman  took  down 
sick  with  camp  measles,  and  laid  there  day  af 
ter  day  in  the  hosspital  tent  under  an  old  ragged 
bedquilt,  mighty  sick,  but  never  complainin' — 
only  jest  grinnin'  his  gratitude  when  anybody 
done  a  kind  turn  fur  him — we  knowed  he  was 
gritty  in  more  ways  than  one.  And  there  wasn't 
a  man  in  Company  B  but  whut  would  have  fit 
any  feller  that  ever  tried  ag'in  to  impose  on 
him. 

"He  was  sick  a  good  while.  He  was  up  and 
round  ag'in,  though,  in  time  to  do  his  sheer  in 
the  first  fight  we  were  in — which  was  at  Bel- 
mont,  over  acrost  the  Mississippi  River  frum 
Columbus — in  the  fall  o'  that  year.  I  seem  to 
recall  that,  ez  we  went  into  action  and  got  into 
fire,  a  strange  pair  of  laigs  took  to  tremblin' 
mightily  inside  the  pair  of  pants  I  was  wearin' 
at  the  time;  and  most  of  my  vital  organs  moved 
up  into  my  throat  and  interfered  some  with 
my  breathin'. 

"In  fact  I  made  a  number  of  very  interestin' 
discoveries  in  the  openin'  stages  of  that  there 
fight.  One  was  that  I  wasn't  never  goin'  to 
be  entirely  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  bein'  killed 
on  the  field  of  battle;  and  another  was  that, 
though  I  loved  my  native  land  and  would  die 
fur  her  if  necessary — only  hopin'  it  wouldn't 
be  necessary  to  go  so  fur  ez  all  that — still,  ef 
I  lived  to  git  out  of  this  particular  war  I  wasn't 
goin'  to  love  another  native  land  e'z  long  ez  I 
lived." 


A      KISS      FOR      KINDNESS 

"Shucks,  William!"  snorted  Doctor  Lake. 
"Try  that  on  somebody  else,  but  don't  try  to 
come  such  stuff  on  me.  Why,  I  was  right  along 
side  of  you  when  we  went  into  that  charge, 
and  you  never  faltered!" 

"Lew,"  stated  Judge  Priest,  "you  might  ez 
well  know  the  truth.  I've  been  waitin'  fur 
nearly  forty  years  to  make  this  confession.  The 
fact  of  the  matter  was,  I  was  so  skeered  I  didn't 
dare  to  stop  goin'  ahead.  I  knowed  ef  ever  I 
did  slow  up,  and  give  myself  a  chance  to  think, 
I'd  never  quit  runnin'  the  other  way  until  I 
was  out  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  swimmin'. 

"And  yit  another  thing  I  found  out  that  day 
was  that  the  feller  back  home  who  told  me  one 
Southerner  could  whip  five  Yankees,  single- 
handed,  made  a  triflin'  error  in  his  calculations; 
or  else  the  Yankees  he  had  in  mind  when  he 
uttered  the  said  remark  was  a  different  breed 
frum  the  bunch  we  tackled  that  day  in  the 
backskirts  of  the  thrivin'  little  community  of 
Belmont,  Missoury.  But  the  most  important 
thing  of  all  the  things  I  discovered  was  about 
Herman  Felsburg — only  that  come  later. 

"In  the  early  stages  of  that  little  battle  the 
Federals  sort  of  shoved  us  back  a  few  pegs;  but 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  evenin'  the  tide 
swung  the  other  way,  and  shortly  thereafter 
their  commandin'  general  remembered  some 
pressin'  business  back  in  Cairo,  Illinois,  that 
needed  attendin'  to  right  away,  and  he  started 
back  there  to  do  so,  takin*  whut  was  left  of  his 
[  335  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

army  along  with  him.  So  we  claimed  it  ez  a 
victory  for  us,  which  it  was. 

"Along  toward  dusk,  when  the  fightin*  had 
died  down,  our  company  was  layin'  alongside  a 
country  road  jest  outside  the  town,  purty  well 
tuckered  out,  and  cut  up  some.  We  were  all 
tellin'  each  other  how  brave  we'd  been,  when 
along  down  the  road  toward  us  come  a  file  of 
prisoners,  under  guard,  lookin'  mighty  forlorn 
and  low-sperrited.  They  was  the  first  prison 
ers  any  of  us  had  ever  seen;  so  we  jumped  up 
from  where  we  was  stretched  out  and  crowded 
up  round  'em,  pokin'  fun  at  'em.  The  guards 
halted  'em  to  let  'em  rest  and  we  had  a  good 
chance  to  exchange  the  compliments  of  the 
season  with  'em.  Right  in  the  front  rank  of 
the  blue-bellies  was  one  big  furreign-lookin'  fel 
ler,  with  no  hat  on,  and  a  head  of  light  yaller 
hair.  He  ripped  out  somethin'  in  German — a 
cuss  word,  I  take  it.  Doubtless  he  was  tellin' 
us  to  go  plum'  to  hell.  Well,  suh,  at  that,  Her 
man  jumped  like  he'd  been  stung  by  one  of 
these  here  yaller  jackets.  I  reckin  he  was 
homesick,  anyway,  fur  the  sound  of  his  own 
language. 

"He  walked  over  and  begun  jabberin'  in 
Dutch  with  the  big  sandy-haired  Yank,  and 
the  Yank  jabbered  back;  and  they  talked  to 
gether  mighty  industrious  until  the  prisoners 
moved  on — about  fifteen  minutes,  I  should  say, 
offhanded.  And  ez  we  went  back  to  lay  down 
ag'in  I  took  notice  that  Herman  had  the  fun- 
[336] 


A     KISS      FOR     KINDNESS 

niest  look  on  his  face  that  ever  I  seen  on  al 
most  any  human  face.  And  he  kept  scratchin' 
his  head,  like  there  was  somethin'  on  his  mind, 
troublin'  him,  that  he  jest  simply  couldn't  make 
out  noway.  But  he  didn't  say  nothin'  to  nobody 
then — jest  kept  on  scratchin'  and  study  in'. 

"In  fact,  he  held  in  till  nearly  ten  o'clock 
that  night.  We  made  camp  right  there  on  the 
edge  of  the  battleground.  I  was  fixin'  to  turn 
in  when  Herman  got  up  frum  where  he'd  been 
squattin',  over  by  a  log  fire,  lookin'  in  the 
flames;  and  he  come  over  to  me  and  teched  me 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Tilly  Briest,'  he  says  in  that  curious  way 
of  hisn,  'I  should  like  to  speak  mit  you.  Please, 
you  gecomin'  mit  me.' 

"So  I  got  up  and  follered  him.  He  led  me 
off  into  a  little  thicket-like  and  we  set  down 
side  by  side  on  a  log,  same  ez  we  three  are  set- 
tin'  here  now.  There  was  a  full  moon  that 
night,  ridin'  high,  and  no  clouds  in  the  sky; 
and  even  there  in  the  shadders  everythin'  was 
purty  nigh  ez  bright  ez  day. 

"'Well,  old  hoss,'  I  says,  'whut  seems  to  be 
on  your  mind?' 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  try  very  hard  to  imitate  his 
accent — you-all  kin  imagine  it  fur  yourselves. 
And  he  says  to  me  he's  feared  he's  made  a  big 
mistake. 

'Whut  kind  of  a  mistake?'  I  says. 
"Ven  I  j'ined  dis  army,'  he  says — or  words 

to  that  effect. 

[337] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

"'How  so? 'I  says. 

"And  then  he  starts  in  to  tell  me,  talkin'  ez 
fast  ez  his  tongue  kin  wag,  and  makin'  ges 
tures  with  both  his  hands,  like  a  boy  tryin'  to 
learn  to  swim  dog-fashion.  And  after  a  little, 
by  piecin'  together  ez  much  of  his  talk  ez  I  kin 
ketch,  I  begin  to  make  out  whut  he's  drivin' 
at;  and  the  shock  is  so  great  I  come  mighty 
near  fallin'  right  smack  off  that  log  backward. 

"Here's  the  way  the  thing  stands  with  him: 
That  night  at  the  old  market  house,  when  the 
company  is  bein'  formed,  he  happens  along 
and  sees  a  crowd,  and  drops  in  to  find  out,  ef 
he  kin,  whut's  afoot.  Presently  he  makes  out 
that  there's  a  war  startin'  up  ag'inst  somebody 
or  other,  and,  sence  he's  made  up  his  mind 
he's  goin'  to  live  in  America  always  and  make 
it  his  country,  he  decides  it's  his  bounden  duty 
to  fight  fur  his  country.  So  he  jest  up  and 
signs,  along  with  the  rest  of  us. 

"Of  course  from  that  time  on  he  hears  a  lot 
of  talk  about  the  Yankee  invader  and  the 
Northern  vandal;  but  he  figgers  it  that  the 
enemy  comes  frum  somewhere  'way  up  North — 
Canada  or  Greenland,  or  the  Arctic  regions,  or 
the  North  Pole,  or  some  of  them  other  furreign 
districts  up  in  that  gineral  vicinity.  And  not 
fur  a  minute — not  till  he  talked  with  the  big 
Dutch  prisoner  that  day — had  it  ever  dawned 
on  him  fur  a  single  minute  that  a  Yankee  mout 
possibly  be  an  American,  too. 

"When  he  stops  I  sets  and  looks  at  him  a 
[  338] 


A     KISS     FOR     KINDNES 


minute,  takin*  it  all  in;  and  he  looks  back. 
Finally  I  says: 

"'And  so  you  went  and  enlisted,  thinkin' 
you  was  goin'  to  fight  fur  the  United  States  of 
America,  and  you're  jest  findin'  out  now  that 
all  these  weeks  you've  been  organism'  yourself 
to  fight  ag'inst  her?  Is  that  it?' 

"And  he  says,  'Yes,  that's  it.'  And  I  says: 
'Well,  I  wisht  I  might  be  dam'!'  And  he  says, 
well,  he  wishes  he  might  be  dam'  too,  or  in 
substance  expresses  sech  a  sentiment.  And  fur 
another  spell  we  two  merely  continues  to  set 
there  lookin'  one  another  in  the  face. 

"After  a  little  I  asts  him  whut  he's  aimin'  to 
do  about  it;  and  he  says  he  ain't  decided  yit  in 
his  own  mind.  And  then  I  says: 

"Well,  Herman,  it's  purty  tough  on  you, 
anyway  you  take  it.  I  don't  rightly  know  all 
the  rules  o'  this  here  war  business  yit,  myself; 
but  I  reckin  ef  it  was  made  clear  to  the  higher 
authorities  that  you  was  sort  of  drug  into  this 
affair  under  false  pretenses,  ez  it  were,  why, 
mebbe  they  mout  muster  you  out  and  give  you 
an  honourable  discharge — pro vi din',  of  course, 
you  pledged  yourself  not  to  take  up  arms  fur 
the  other  side,  which,  in  a  way  of  speakin', 
would  make  you  a  deserter.  We-all  know  you 
ain't  no  coward,  and  we'll  all  testify  to  it  ef 
our  testimony  is  needed.  I  reckon  the  rest  of 
the  boys'll  understand  your  position  in  the 
matter;  in  fact,  I'll  undertake  to  make  'em 
understand.' 

[339] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"He  asts  me  then:  'Whut  iss  false  pre 
tenses?'  And  I  explains  to  him  the  best  I  kin; 
and  he  thinks  that  p'int  over  fur  a  minute  or 
two.  Then  he  looks  up  at  me  sideways  frum 
under  the  brim  of  his  cap,  and  I  kin  see  by  the 
moonlight  he's  blushin'  ez  red  ez  a  beet,  and 
grinnin'  that  shy  little  snaggle-teethed  grin  of 
hisn. 

"Tilly/  he  says,  'mebbe  so  you  remember 
dot  young  lady  vot  put  her  arms  round  me  dot 
night — de  von  vot  gif  to  me  a  kiss  fur  kind 
ness?  She  iss  on  de  Deexie  side — yes? — no?' 

"And  I  says  to  him:  'You  kin  bet  your 
sweet  life  she  is!' 

"'All  right!'  he  says.  'I  am  much  lonesome 
dot  night — and  she  kiss  me!  All  right,  den. 
I  fights  fur  her!  I  sticks  mit  Deexie!'  And 
when  he  says  that  he  makes  a  salute,  and  I 
notice  he's  quit  grinnin'." 

"And  did  he  stick?"  I  asked. 

Before  he  answered,  the  old  Judge  drained 
his  tin  cup  to  the  bottom. 

"Did  he  stick?  Huh!  Four  long  hard  bit 
ter  years  he  stuck — that's  all!  Boy,  you  mout 
not  think  it,  to  see  old  Herman  waddlin'  acrost 
that  Oak  Hall  Clothin'  Store  to  sell  some  young 
buck  from  the  country  a  pair  of  twenty-five- 
cent  galluses  or  a  celluloid  collar;  but  I'm  here 
to  tell  you  he's  one  of  the  stickin'est  white  men 
that  ever  drawed  the  breath  of  life.  Lew  Lake, 
here,  will  tell  you  the  same  thing.  Mebbe  it's 
because  he  is  sech  a  good  sticker  that  he's  one 

[340] 


A     KISS     FOR     KINDNESS 

of  the  wealthiest  men  in  this  county  to-day.  I 
only  wisht  I  had  to  spend  on  sweetenin'  drams 
whut  he  lays  by  every  year.  But  I  don't  be 
grudge  it  to  him.' 

Through  the  grove  ran  an  especially  loud 
outburst  of  cheering,  and  on  top  of  it  we  heard 
the  scuffling  of  many  yeomen  feet.  Judge 
Priest  slid  off  the  log  and  stood  up  and  stretched 
his  pudgy  legs. 

"That  must  mean  the  speakin's  over  and  the 
rally's  breakin'  up,"  he  said.  "Come  along, 
son,  and  ride  on  back  to  town  with  us  in  my 
old  buggy.  I  reckin  there's  room  fur  you  to 
scrouge  in  between  me  and  Doctor  Lake,  ef 
you'll  make  yourself  small." 

The  October  sun,  slanting  low,  made  long 
stippled  lanes  between  the  tree  trunks,  so  that 
we  waded  waist-deep  in  a  golden  haze  as  we 
made  for  the  place  where  Judge  Priest's  Mittie 
May  was  tethered  to  a  sapling.  The  old  white 
mare  recognised  her  master  from  afar,  and 
whinnied  a  greeting  to  him,  and  I  was  moved 
to  ask  another  question.  To  me  that  tale  stood 
uncompleted : 

"Judge,  what  ever  became  of  that  young 
lady  who  kissed  him  that  night  at  the  Rich- 
land  House?" 

"Oh,  her?  She  died  a  long,  long  time  ago— 
before  you  was  born.  Her  folks  lost  their 
money  on  account  of  the  war,  and  she  married 
a  feller  that  wasn't  much  account;  they  moved 

[341] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

out  to  Arkansaw  and  the  marriage  turned  out 
bad,  and  she  died  when  her  first  baby  was 
born.  There  ain't  none  of  her  family  livin' 
here  now — they've  purty  much  all  died  out  too. 
But  they  shipped  her  body  back  here,  and  she's 
buried  out  in  Ellum  Grove  Cemetery,  in  the  old 
Machen  lot. 

"Some  of  these  days,  when  you  are  out  there 
in  the  cemetery  foolin'  round,  with  nothin' 
much  else  to  do,  you  look  for  her  grave — you 
kin  find  it.  Bein'  a  Christian  woman,  she  had 
a  Christian  burial  and  she's  restin'  in  a  Chris 
tian  buryin'  ground;  but,  in  strict  confidence, 
I'll  tell  you  this  much  more  while  we're  on  the 
subject:  It  wasn't  no  Christian  that  privately 
paid  the  bill  fur  the  tombstone  that  marks  the 
place  where  she's  sleepin'.  I  wonder  ef  you 
could  figger  out  who  it  was  that  did  pay  fur 
it?  I'll  give  you  two  guesses. 

"And  say,  listen,  sonny:  your  first  guess 
will  be  the  right  one." 


[342] 


CHAPTER  X 

LIFE   AMONG   THE   ABAN 
DONED    FARMERS 


I  WISH  to  say  I  have  given  up  all  intention 
of  buying  an  abandoned  farm.     This  de 
cision  on  my  part  is  fixed  and  irrevocable. 
I  arrived  at  it  after  a  long  period  of  study 
and  investigation.     Much  as  I  regret  to  state 
it,  I  shall  never  live  on  an  abandoned  farm 
and  be  an  abandoned  farmer. 

For  years  it  has  been  the  dream  of  our  life 
— I  should  say  our  lives,  since  my  wife  shared 
this  vision  with  me — to  own  an  abandoned 
farm;  but  now  I  know  this  can  never  be.  The 
idea  first  came  to  us  through  reading  articles 
that  appeared  in  the  various  magazines  and 
newspapers  telling  of  the  sudden  growth  of 
what  I  may  call  the  abandoned-farm  industry. 
It  seemed  that  New  England  in  general — 
and  the  state  of  Connecticut  in  particular — was 
thickly  speckled  with  delightful  old  places 
which,  through  overcultivation  or  illtreatment, 
had  become  for  the  time  being  sterile  and  non- 
productive;  so  that  the  original  owners  had 

[343] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

moved  away  to  the  near-by  manufacturing 
towns,  leaving  their  ancestral  homesteads  empty 
and  their  ancestral  acres  idle.  As  a  result  there 
were  great  numbers  of  desirable  places  any 
one  of  which  might  be  had  for  a  song.  That 
was  the  term  most  commonly  used  by  the  writ 
ers  of  these  articles — abandoned  farms  going 
for  a  song. 

Now  singing  is  not  my  forte.  People  would 
be  more  apt  to  go  away  from  a  song  of  mine 
than  to  go  for  it;  still,  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
if  such  indeed  was  the  case  I  would  sing  a  lit 
tle,  accompanying  myself  on  my  bank  balance, 
and  win  me  an  abandoned  farm. 

The  formula  as  laid  down  by  the  authorities 
was  simple  in  the  extreme:  Taking  almost  any 
Connecticut  town  for  a  starting  point,  you 
merely  meandered  along  an  elm-lined  road  until 
you  came  to  a  desirable  location,  which  you 
purchased  for  the  price  of  the  aforesaid  ditty, 
lullaby  or  roundelay.  This  formality  being 
completed,  you  spent  a  trivial  sum  in  restoring 
the  fences,  and  so  on,  and  modernising  the  in 
terior  of  the  house;  after  which  it  was  a  com 
paratively  easy  task  to  restore  the  land  to 
productiveness  by  processes  of  intensive  agri 
culture — procurable  from  any  standard  book 
on  the  subject  or  through  easy  lessons  by  mail. 
And  so  presently,  with  scarcely  any  trouble  or 
expense  at  all,  you  were  the  possessor  of  a  de 
lightful  country  estate  upon  which  to  spend 
your  declining  years.  It  made  no  difference 


ABANDONED     FARMERS 

whether  you  were  one  of  those  persons  who 
had  never  to  date  declined  anything  of  value; 
there  was  no  telling  when  you  might  start  in. 

I  could  shut  my  eyes  and  see  the  whole  de 
lectable  prospect:  Upon  a  gentle  eminence 
crowned  with  ancient  trees  stood  the  rambling 
old  manse,  filled  with  marvellous  antique  fur 
niture,  grandfather's  clocks  dating  back  to  the 
whaling  days,  spinning  wheels,  pottery  that 
came  over  on  the  Mayflower,  and  all  those  sorts 
of  things.  Round  about  were  the  meadows, 
some  under  cultivation  and  some  lying  fallow, 
the  latter  being  dotted  at  appropriate  intervals 
with  the  grazing  fallow  deer. 

At  one  side  of  the  house  was  the  orchard, 
the  old  gnarly  trees  crooking  their  bent  limbs 
as  though  inviting  one  to  come  and  pluck  the 
sun-kissed  fruit  from  the  burdened  bough;  at 
the  other  side  a  purling  brook  wandering  its 
way  into  a  greenwood  copse,  where  through  all 
the  golden  day  sang  the  feathered  warblers 
indigenous  to  the  climate,  including  the  soft- 
billed  Greenwich  thrush,  the  Peabody  bird,  the 
Pettingill  bird,  the  Phelps-Stokes  bird,  the 
albatross,  the  flamingo,  and  others  of  the  com 
moner  varieties  too  numerous  to  mention. 

At  the  back  were  the  abandoned  cotes  and 
byres,  with  an  abandoned  rooster  crowing 
lustily  upon  a  henhouse,  and  an  abandoned 
bull  calf  disporting  himself  in  the  clover  of  the 
pasture.  At  the  front  was  a  rolling  vista  un 
dulating  gently  away  to  where  above  the  tree- 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

tops  there  rose  the  spires  of  a  typical  New  Eng 
land  village  full  of  old  line  Republicans  and 
characters  suitable  for  putting  into  short  stor 
ies.  On  beyond,  past  where  a  silver  lake 
glinted  in  the  sunshine,  was  a  view  of  either  the 
distant  Sound  or  the  distant  mountains.  Per 
sonally  I  intended  that  my  establishment 
should  be  so  placed  as  to  command  a  view  of 
the  Sound  from  the  east  windows  and  of  the 
mountains  from  the  west  windows.  And  all  to 
be  had  for  a  song!  Why,  the  mere  thought  of 
it  was  enough  to  make  a  man  start  taking  vocal 
culture  right  away. 

Besides,  I  have  been  waiting  impatiently  for 
a  long  time  for  an  opportunity  to  work  out  sev 
eral  agricultural  projects  of  my  own.  For  ex 
ample,  there  is  my  notion  in  regard  to  the  mul 
berry.  The  mulberry,  as  all  know,  is  one  of 
our  most  abundant  small  fruits;  but  many 
have  objected  to  it  on  account  of  its  woolly  ap 
pearance  and  slightly  caterpillary  taste.  My 
idea  is  to  cross  the  mulberry  on  the  slippery 
elm — pronounced,  where  I  came  from,  ellum— 
producing  a  fruit  which  I  shall  call  the  mulel- 
lum.  This  fruit  will  combine  the  health-giving 
qualities  of  the  mulberry  with  the  agreeable 
smoothness  of  the  slippery  elm;  in  fact,  if  my 
plans  work  out  I  shall  have  a  berry  that  will  go 
down  so  slick  the  consumer  will  not  taste  it  at 
all  unless  he  should  eat  too  many  of  them  and 
have  indigestion  afterward. 

Then  there  was  my  scheme  for  inducing  the 
[346]  


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

common  chinch  bug  to  make  chintz  curtains. 
If  the  silk  worms  can  make  silk  why  should  not 
the  chinch  bug  do  something  useful  instead  of 
wasting  his  energies  in  idle  pursuits?  This  is 
what  I  wish  to  know.  And  why  should  this 
man  Luther  Burbank  enjoy  a  practical  mon 
opoly  of  all  these  propositions?  That  was  the 
way  I  looked  at  it;  and  I  figured  that  an  aban 
doned  farm  would  make  an  ideal  place  for 
working  out  such  experiments  as  might  come 
to  me  from  time  to  time. 

The  trouble  was  that,  though  everybody 
wrote  of  the  abandoned  farms  in  a  broad,  gen 
eral,  alluring  way,  nobody  gave  the  exact  loca 
tion  of  any  of  them.  I  subscribed  for  one  of 
the  monthly  publications  devoted  to  country 
life  along  the  Eastern  seaboard  and  searched 
assiduously  through  its  columns  for  mention 
of  abandoned  farms.  The  owners  of  most  of 
the  country  places  that  were  advertised  for 
sale  made  mention  of  such  things  as  fourteen 
master's  bedrooms  and  nine  master's  baths — 
showing  undoubtedly  that  the  master  would 
be  expected  to  sleep  oftener  than  he  bathed — 
sunken  gardens  and  private  hunting  preserves, 
private  golf  links  and  private  yacht  landings. 

In  nearly  every  instance,  also,  the  advertise 
ment  was  accompanied  by  a  halftone  picture 
of  a  structure  greatly  resembling  the  new  county 
building  they  are  going  to  have  down  at  Padu- 
cah  if  the  bond  issue  ever  passes.  This  seemed 
a  suitable  place  for  holding  circuit  court  in,  or 
[347] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

even  fiscal  court,  but  it  was  not  exactly  the 
kind  of  country  home  that  we  had  pictured  for 
ourselves.  As  my  wife  said,  just  the  detail  of 
washing  all  those  windows  would  keep  the  girl 
busy  fully  half  her  time.  Nor  did  I  care  to  in 
vest  in  any  sunken  gardens.  I  had  sufficient 
experience  in  that  direction  when  we  lived  in 
the  suburbs  and  permanently  invested  about 
half  of  what  I  made  in  our  eight-by-ten  flower 
bed  trying  to  make  it  produce  the  kind  of  flow 
ers  that  the  florists'  catalogues  described. 
You  could  not  tell  us  anything  about  that  sub 
ject — we  knew  where  a  sunken  garden  derives 
its  name.  We  paid  good  money  to  know. 

None  of  the  places  advertised  in  the  monthly 
seemed  sufficiently  abandoned  for  our  purposes, 
so  for  a  little  while  we  were  in  a  quandary. 
Then  I  had  a  bright  thought.  I  said  to  myself 
that  undoubtedly  abandoned  farms  were  so 
cheap  the  owners  did  not  expect  to  get  any  real 
money  for  them;  they  would  probably  be  will 
ing  to  take  something  in  exchange.  So  I  began 
buying  the  evening  papers  and  looking  through 
them  in  the  hope  of  running  across  some  such 
item  as  this: 

To  EXCHANGE — Abandoned  farm,  centrally  lo 
cated,  with  large  farmhouse,  containing  all-antique 
furniture,  barns,  outbuildings,  family  graveyard — 
planted — orchard,  woodland,  fields — unplanted — for 
a  collection  of  postage  stamps  in  album,  an  ama 
teur  magician's  outfit,  a  guitar  with  book  of  in- 
structions,  a  safety  bicycle,  or  anything  useful.  Ad- 
[348] 


ABANDONED     FARMERS 

dress  ABANDONED,  South  Squantum  Center,  Con 
necticut. 

I  found  no  such  offers,  however;  and  in  view 
of  what  we  had  read  this  seemed  stranger  still. 
Finally  I  decided  that  the  only  safe  method 
would  be  by  first-hand  investigation  upon  the 
spot.  I  would  go  by  rail  to  some  small  but  ac 
cessible  hamlet  in  the  lower  part  of  New  Eng 
land.  On  arriving  there  I  would  personally 
examine  a  number  of  the  more  attractive  aban 
doned  farms  in  the  immediate  vicinity  and  make 
a  discriminating  selection.  Having  reached 
this  conclusion  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  peace 
fully — or  at  least  I  went  to  bed  and  did  so  as 
soon  as  my  wife  and  I  had  settled  one  point  that 
came  up  unexpectedly  at  this  juncture.  It  re 
lated  to  the  smokehouse.  I  was  in  favour  of 
turning  the  smokehouse  into  a  study  or  work 
room  for  myself.  She  thought,  though,  that 
by  knocking  the  walls  out  and  altering  the  roof 
and  building  a  pergola  on  to  it,  it  would  make 
an  ideal  summer  house  in  which  to  serve  tea 
and  from  which  to  view  the  peaceful  landscape 
of  afternoons. 

We  argued  this  back  and  forth  at  some  length, 
each  conceding  something  to  the  other's  views; 
and  finally  we  decided  to  knock  out  the  walls 
and  alter  the  roof  and  have  a  summer  house 
with  a  pergola  in  connection.  It  was  after  we 
reached  this  compromise  that  I  slept  so  peace- 
fully,  for  now  the  whole  thing  was  as  good  as 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

settled.  I  marvelled  at  not  having  thought  of  it 
sooner. 

It  was  on  a  bright  and  peaceful  mormng  that 
I  alighted  from  the  train  at  North  Newbury- 
bunkport.  Considering  that  it  was  supposed  to 
be  a  typical  New  England  village,  North  New- 
burybunkport  did  not  appear  at  first  glance  to 
answer  to  the  customary  specifications,  such 
as  I  had  gleaned  from  my  reading  of  novels  of 
New  England  life.  I  had  expected  that  the 
platform  would  be  inhabited  by  picturesque 
natives  in  quaint  clothes,  with  straws  in  their 
mouths  and  all  whittling;  and  that  the  depot 
agent  would  wear  long  chin  whiskers  and  say 
"I  vum!"  with  much  heartiness  at  frequent 
intervals.  Right  here  I  wish  to  state  that  so 
far  as  my  observations  go  the  native  who  speaks 
these  words  about  every  other  line  is  no  longer 
on  the  job.  Either  I  Vum  the  Terrible  has 
died  or  else  he  has  gone  to  England  to  play  the 
part  of  the  typical  American  millionaire  in 
American  plays  written  by  Englishmen. 

Instead  of  the  loafers,  several  chauffeurs  were 
idling  about  the  station  and  a  string  of  auto 
mobiles  was  drawn  up  across  the  road.  Just 
as  I  disembarked  there  drove  up  a  large  red 
bus  labelled:  Sylvan  Dale  Summer  Hotel,  Eu 
ropean  and  American  Plans.  The  station 
agent  also  proved  in  the  nature  of  a  disappoint 
ment.  He  did  not  even  say  "I  swan"  or  "I 
cal'late!"  or  anything  of  that  nature.  He  wore 
a  pink  in  his  buttonhole  and  his  hair  was  scal- 
[  350] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

loped  up  off  his  forehad  in  what  is  known  as  the 
lion  tamer's  roach.  Approaching,  I  said  to 
him: 

"In  what  direction  should  I  go  to  find  some 
of  the  abandoned  farms  of  this  vicinity?  I 
would  prefer  to  go  where  there  is  a  good  assort 
ment  to  pick  from." 

He  did  not  appear  to  understand,  so  I  re 
peated  the  question,  at  the  same  time  offering 
him  a  cigar. 

"Bo,"  he  said,  "you've  sure  got  me  wing 
ing  now.  You'd  better  ask  Tony  Magnito — 
he  runs  the  garage  three  doors  up  the  street 
from  here  on  the  other  side.  Tony  does  a  lot 
of  driving  round  the  country  for  suckers  that 
come  up  here,  and  he  might  help  you." 

To  reach  the  garage  I  had  to  cross  the  road, 
dodging  several  automobiles  in  transit,  and 
then  pass  two  old-fashioned  New  England 
houses  fronting  close  up  to  the  sidewalk.  One 
had  the  sign  of  a  teahouse  over  the  door,  and 
in  the  window  of  the  other,  picture  postcards, 
birch-bark  souvenirs  and  standard  varieties  of 
candy  were  displayed  for  sale. 

Despite  his  foreign-sounding  name,  Mr. 
Magnito  spoke  fair  English — that  is,  as  fair 
English  as  any  one  speaks  who  employs  the 
Manhattan  accent  in  so  doing. 

Even  after  he  found  out  that  I  did  not  care 
to  rent  a  touring  car  for  sightseeing  purposes 
at  five  dollars  an  hour  he  was  quite  affable  and 
accommodating;  but  my  opening  question  ap- 

[  351  ] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

peared  to  puzzle  him  just  as  in  the  case  of  the 
depot  agent. 

"Mister,"  he  said  frankly,  "I'm  sorry,  but 
I  don't  seem  to  make  you.  What's  this  thing 
you  is  looking  for?  Tell  me  over  again  slow." 

Really  the  ignorance  of  these  villagers  re 
garding  one  of  their  principal  products — a 
product  lying,  so  to  speak,  at  their  very  doors 
and  written  about  constantly  in  the  public 
prints — was  ludicrous.  It  would  have  been 
laughable  if  it  had  not  been  deplorable.  I  saw 
that  I  could  not  indulge  in  general  trade  terms. 
I  must  be  painfully  explicit  and  simple. 

"What  I  am  seeking" — I  said  it  very  slowly 
and  very  distinctly — "is  a  farm  that  has  been 
deserted,  so  to  speak — one  that  has  outlived 
its  usefulness  as  a  farm  proper,  and  everything 
like  that!" 

"Oh,"  he  says,  "now  I  get  you!  Why  didn't' 
you  say  that  in  the  first  place?  The  place 
you're  looking  for  is  the  old  Parham  place,  out 
here  on  the  post  road  about  a  mile.  August'll 
take  good  care  of  you — that's  his  specialty." 

"August?"  I  inquired.     "August  who?" 

"August  Weins topper — the  guy  who  runs 
it,"  he  explained.  "You  must  have  known 
August  if  you  lived  long  in  New  York.  He  used 
to  be  the  steward  at  that  big  hotel  at  Broad 
way  and  Forty-second;  that  was  before  he 
came  up  here  and  opened  up  the  old  Parham 
place  as  an  automobile  roadhouse.  He's  clean- 
ing  up  about  a  thousand  a  month.  Some  class 
[852] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

to  that  mantrap!  They've  got  an  orchestra, 
and  nothing  but  vintage  goods  on  the  wine  card, 
and  dancing  at  all  hours.  Any  night  you'll  see 
forty  or  fifty  big  cars  rolling  up  there,  bringing 
swell  dames  and— 

I  judge  he  saw  by  my  expression  that  he  was 
on  a  totally  wrong  tack,  because  he  stopped 
short. 

"Say,  mister,"  he  said,  "I  guess  you'd  better 
step  into  the  post-office  here — next  door — and 
tell  your  troubles  to  Miss  Plummer.  She  knows 
everything  that's  going  on  round  here — and 
she  ought  to,  too,  seeing  as  she  gets  first  chance 
at  all  the  circulars  and  postal  cards  that  come 
in.  Besides,  I  gotter  be  changing  that  gasoline 
sign — gas  has  went  up  two  cents  a  gallon  more." 

Miss  Plummer  was  sorting  mail  when  I  ap 
peared  at  her  wicket.  She  was  one  of  those 
elderly,  spinterish-looking,  kittenish  females 
who  seem  in  an  intense  state  of  surprise  all  the 
time.  Her  eyebrows  arched  like  croquet  wickets 
and  her  mouth  made  O's  before  she  uttered  them. 

"Name,  please?"  she  said  twitteringly. 

I  told  her. 

"Ah,"  she  said  in  the  thrilled  tone  of  one 
who  is  watching  a  Fourth  of  July  skyrocket 
explode  in  midair.  The  news  seemed  to  please 
her. 

"And  the  initials,  please?" 

"The  initials  are  of  no  consequence.  I  do 
not  expect  any  mail,"  I  said.  "I  want  merely 

to  ask  you  a  question." 

[  353  ] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

"Indeed!"  she  said  coyly.  She  said  it  as 
though  I  had  just  given  her  a  handsome  re 
membrance,  and  she  cocked  her  head  on  one 
side  like  a  bird — like  a  hen-bird. 

"I  hate  to  trouble  you,"  I  went  on,  "but  I 
have  experienced  some  difficulty  in  making 
your  townspeople  understand  me.  I  am  look 
ing  for  a  certain  kind  of  farm — a  farm  of  an 
abandoned  character." 

At  once  I  saw  I  had  made  a  mistake. 

"You  do  not  get  my  meaning,"  I  said  hastily. 
"I  refer  to  a  farm  that  has  been  deserted,  closed 
up,  shut  down — in  short,  abandoned.  I  trust 
I  make  myself  plain." 

She  was  still  suffering  from  shock,  however. 
She  gave  me  a  wounded-fawn  glance  and 
averted  her  burning  face. 

"The  Prewitt  property  might  suit  your  pur 
poses — whatever  they  may  be,"  she  said  coldly 
over  her  shoulder.  "Mr.  Jabez  Pickerel,  of 
Pickerel  &  Pike,  real-estate  dealers,  on  the  first 
corner  above,  will  doubtless  give  you  the  de 
sired  information.  He  has  charge  of  the  Pre 
witt  property." 

At  last,  I  said  to  myself  as  I  turned  away,  I 
was  on  the  right  track.  Mr.  Pickerel  rose  as  I 
entered  his  place  of  business.  He  was  a  short, 
square  man,  with  a  brisk  manner  and  a  roving 
eye. 

"I  have  been  directed  to  you,"  I  began.  He 
seized  my  hand  and  began  shaking  it  warmly. 
"I  have  been  told,"  I  continued,  "that  you 
[354] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

have  charge  of  the  old  Prewitt  farm  some 
where  near  here;  and  as  I  am  in  the  market 
for  an  aban I  got  no  farther  than  that. 

"In  one  minute,"  he  shouted  explosively — 
"in  just  one  minute!" 

Still  clutching  me  by  the  hand,  he  rushed  me 
pellmell  out  of  the  place.  At  the  curbing  stood 
a  long,  low,  rakish  racing-model  roadster,  look 
ing  something  like  a  high-powered  projectile 
and  something  like  an  enlarged  tailor's  goose. 
Leaping  into  this  machine  at  one  bound,  he 
dragged  me  up  into  the  seat  beside  him  and 
threw  on  the  power.  Instantly  we  were  streak 
ing  away  at  a  perfectly  appalling  rate  of  speed 
— fully  forty-five  to  fifty-five  miles  an  hour  I 
should  say.  You  never  saw  anything  so  sud 
den  in  your  life.  It  was  exactly  like  a  kidnap 
ping.  It  was  only  by  the  exercise  of  great  self- 
control  that  I  restrained  myself  from  scream 
ing  for  help.  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  was  being 
abducted — for  what  purpose  I  knew  not. 

As  we  spun  round  a  corner  on  two  wheels, 
spraying  up  a  long  furrow  of  dust,  the  same  as 
shown  in  pictures  of  the  chariot  race  in  Ben- 
Hur,  a  man  with  a  watch  in  his  hand  and  wear 
ing  a  badge — a  constable,  I  think — ran  out  of  a 
house  that  had  a  magistrate's  sign  over  it  and 
threw  up  his  hand  authoritatively,  as  though 
to  stop  us;  but  my  companion  yelled  some 
thing  the  purport  of  which  I  could  not  distin 
guish  and  the  constable  fell  back.  Glancing 
rearward  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  him  halting 
"  [  355  ] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

another  car  bearing  a  New  York  license  that 
did  not  appear  to  be  going  half  so  fast  as  we 
were. 

In  another  second  we  were  out  of  town,  tear 
ing  along  a  country  highway.  Evidently  sens 
ing  the  alarm  expressed  by  my  tense  face  and 
strained  posture,  this  man  Pickerel  began  say 
ing  something  in  what  was  evidently  intended 
to  be  a  reassuring  tone;  but  such  was  the  roar 
ing  of  the  car  that  I  could  distinguish  only 
broken  fragments  of  his  speech.  I  caught  the 
words  "  unparallelled  opportunity,"  repeated 
several  times — the  term  appeared  to  be  a  fa 
vourite  of  his — and  "marvellous  proposition." 
Possibly  I  was  not  listening  very  closely  any 
how,  my  mind  being  otherwise  engaged.  For 
one  thing  I  was  surmising  in  a  general  sort  of 
way  upon  the  old  theory  of  the  result  when  the 
irresistible  force  encounters  the  immovable 
object.  I  was  wondering  how  long  it  would  be 
before  we  hit  something  solid  and  whether  it 
would  be  possible  afterward  to  tell  us  apart. 
His  straw  hat  also  made  me  wonder.  I  had 
mine  clutched  in  both  hands  and  even  then  it 
fluttered  against  my  bosom  like  a  captive  bird, 
but  his  stayed  put.  I  think  yet  he  must  have 
had  threads  cut  in  his  head  to  match  the  con 
volutions  of  the  straw  and  screwed  his  hat  on, 
like  a  nut  on  an  axle. 

I  have  a  confused  recollection  of  rushing 
with  the  speed  of  the  tornado  through  rows  of 
trees ;  of  leaping  from  the  crest  of  one  small  hill 
[356] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

to  the  crest  of  the  next  small  hill;  of  passing  a 
truck  patch  with  such  velocity  that  the  lettuce 
and  tomatoes  and  other  things  all  seemed  to 
merge  together  in  a  manner  suggestive  of  a 
well-mixed  vegetable  salad.  Then  we  swung 
off  the  main  road  in  between  the  huge  brick 
columns  of  an  ornate  gateway  that  stood  alone, 
with  no  fence  in  connection.  We  bumpily  tra 
versed  a  rutted  stretch  of  cleared  land;  and 
then  with  a  jar  and  a  jolt  we  came  to  a  pause 
in  what  appeared  to  be  a  wide  and  barren  ex 
panse. 

As  my  heart  began  to  throb  with  slightly 
less  violence  I  looked  about  me  for  the  aban 
doned  farmhouse.  I  had  conceived  that  it 
would  be  white  with  green  blinds  and  that  it 
would  stand  among  trees.  It  was  not  in  sight; 
neither  were  the  trees.  The  entire  landscape 
presented  an  aspect  that  was  indeed  remark 
able.  Small  numbered  stakes,  planted  in  double 
lines  at  regular  intervals,  so  as  to  form  aisles, 
stretched  away  from  us  in  every  direction.  Also 
there  were  twin  rows  of  slender  sticks  planted  in 
the  earth  in  a  sort  of  geometric  pattern.  Some 
were  the  size  of  switches.  Others  were  almost 
as  large  as  umbrella  handles  and  had  sprouted 
slightly.  A  short  distance  away  an  Italian  was 
steering  a  dirtscraper  attached  to  a  languid 
mule  along  a  sort  of  dim  roadway.  There  were 
no  other  living  creatures  in  sight.  Right  at  my 
feet  were  two  painted  and  lettered  boards  af- 
fixed  at  cross  angles  to  a  wooden  upright.  The 

[357] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

legend  on  one  of  these  boards  was :  Grand  Con 
course.  The  inscription  on  the  other  read: 
Nineteenth  Avenue  West.  Repressing  a  gasp, 
I  opened  my  mouth  to  speak. 

"Ahem!"  I  said.  "There  has  been  some 
mistake " 

"There  can  be  no  mistake!"  he  shouted 
enthusiastically.  "The  only  mistake  possible 
is  not  to  take  advantage  of  this  magnificent 
opportunity  while  it  is  yet  possible  to  do  so. 
Just  observe  that  view!"  He  waved  his  arm 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  horizon  from 
northwest  to  southeast.  "Breathe  this  air!  As 
a  personal  favour  to  me  just  breathe  a  little  of 
this  air!"  He  inhaled  deeply  himself  as  though 
to  show  me  how,  and  I  followed  suit,  because 
after  that  ride  I  needed  to  catch  up  with  my 
regular  breathing. 

"Thank  you!"  I  said  gratefully  when  I  had 
finished  breathing.  "But  how  about " 

"Quite  right!"  he  cried,  beaming  upon  me 
admiringly.  "Quite  right!  I  don't  blame  you. 
You  have  a  right  to  know  all  the  details.  As 
a  business  man  you  should  ask  that  question. 
You  were  about  to  say:  But  how  about  the 
train  service?  Ah,  there  spoke  the  true  busi 
ness  man,  the  careful  investor!  Twenty  fast 
trains  a  day  each  way — twenty,  sir!  Remem 
ber!  And  as  for  accessibility — well,  accessi 
bility  is  simply  no  name  for  it!  Only  two  or 
three  minutes  from  the  station.  You  saw  how 
long  it  took  us  to  get  here  to-day?  Well,  then, 
[  358  ] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

what  more  could  you  ask?  Right  here,"  he 
went  on,  pointing,  "is  the  country  club — a 
magnificent  thing!" 

I  looked,  but  I  didn't  see  anything  except 
a  hole  in  the  ground  about  fifty  feet  from  us. 

"Where?"    I  asked.     "I  don't  see  it." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "this  is  where  it  is  going 
to  be.  You  automatically  become  a  member 
of  the  country  club;  in  fact,  you  are  as  good 
as  a  member  now!  And  right  up  there  at  the 
corner  of  Lincoln  Boulevard  and  Washington 
Parkway,  where  that  scraper  is,  is  the  public 
library — the  site  for  it!  You'll  be  crazy  about 
the  public  library!  When  we  get  back  I'll  let 
you  run  over  the  plans  for  the  public  library 
while  I'm  fixing  up  the  papers.  Oh,  my  friend, 
how  glad  I  am  you  came  while  there  was  yet 
time!" 

I  breasted  the  roaring  torrent  of  his  pouring 
language. 

"One  minute,"  I  begged  of  him — "One  min 
ute,  if  you  please!  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the 
interest  you  take  in  me,  a  mere  stranger  to 
you;  but  there  has  been  a  misunderstanding. 
I  wanted  to  see  the  Prewitt  place." 

"This  is  the  Prewitt  place,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "but  where  is  the  house? 
And  why  all  this — why  all  these—  I  indi 

cated  by  a  wave  of  my  hand  what  I  meant. 

"Naturally,"  he  explained,  "the  house  is  no 
longer  here.  We  tore  it  away — it  was  old; 
whereas  everything  here  will  be  new,  modern 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

and  up  to  date.  This  is — or  was — the  Prewitt 
place,  now  better  known  as  Homecrest  Heights, 
the  Development  Ideal!"  Having  begun  to 
capitalise  his  words,  he  continued  to  do  so. 
"The  Perfect  Addition!  The  Suburb  Superb! 
Away  From  the  City's  Dust  and  Heat!  Away 
From  Its  Glamour  and  Clamour!  Into  the 
Open!  Into  the  Great  Out-of -Doors !  Back  to 
the  Soil!  Villa  Plots  on  Easy  Terms!  You 
Furnish  the  Birds,  We  Furnish  the  Nest!  The 
Place  For  a  Business  Man  to  Rear  His  Family! 
You  are  Married?  You  Have  a  Wife?  You 
Have  Little  Ones?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "one  of  each — one  wife  and 
one  little  one." 

"Ah!"  he  cried  gladly.  "One  Little  One- 
How  Sweet!  You  Love  Your  Little  One — Ah, 
Yes!  Yes!  You  Desire  to  Give  Your  Little 
One  a  Chance?  You  Would  Give  Her  Con 
genial  Surroundings  —  Refined  Surroundings? 
You  Would  Inculcate  in  Her  While  Young  the 
Love  of  Nature?"  He  put  an  entire  sentence 
into  capitals  now:  "GiVE  YOUR  LITTLE  ONE  A 
CHANCE!  THAT  is  ALL  I  ASK  OF  You!" 

He  had  me  by  both  lapels.  I  thought  he 
was  going  to  kneel  to  me  in  pleading.  I  feared 
he  might  kiss  me.  I  raised  him  to  his  feet. 
Then  his  manner  changed — it  became  domi 
neering,  hectoring,  almost  threatening. 

I  will  pass  briefly  over  the  events  of  the  suc 
ceeding  hour,  including  our  return  to  his  lair 
or  office.  Accounts  of  battles  where  all  the 
[  360  ] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

losses  fall  upon  one  side  are  rarely  interesting 
to  read  about  anyway.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
at  the  last  minute  I  was  saved.  It  was  a  des 
perate  struggle  though.  I  had  offered  the  ut 
most  resistance  at  first,  but  he  would  surely 
have  had  his  way  with  me — only  that  a  train 
pulled  in  bound  for  the  city  just  as  he  was 
showing  me,  as  party  of  the  first  part,  where 
I  was  to  sign  my  name  on  the  dotted  line  A. 
Even  then,  weakened  and  worn  as  I  was,  I 
should  probably  not  have  succeeded  in  beating 
him  off  if  he  had  not  been  hampered  by  having 
a  fountain  pen  in  one  hand  and  the  documents 
in  the  other.  At  the  door  he  intercepted  me; 
but  I  tackled  him  low  about  the  body  and 
broke  through  and  fled  like  a  hunted  roebuck, 
catching  the  last  car  just  as  the  relief  train 
pulled  out  of  the  station.  It  was  a  close  squeeze, 
but  I  made  it.  The  thwarted  Mr.  Pickerel 
wrote  me  regularly  for  some  months  thereafter, 
making  mention  of  My  Little  One  in  every  let 
ter;  but  after  a  while  I  took  to  sending  the  let 
ters  back  to  him  unopened,  and  eventually  he 
quit. 

I  reached  home  along  toward  evening.  I 
was  tired,  but  I  was  not  discouraged.  I  re 
ported  progress  on  the  part  of  the  committee 
on  a  permanent  site,  but  told  my  wife  that  in 
order  to  find  exactly  what  we  wanted  it  would 
be  necessary  for  us  to  leave  the  main-travelled 
paths.  It  was  now  quite  apparent  to  me  that 
the  abandoned  farm-seeker  who  stuck  too 
[361] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

closely  to  the  railroad  lines  was  bound  to  be 
thrown  constantly  in  contact  with  those  false 
and  feverish  metropolitan  influences  which, 
radiating  from  the  city,  have  spread  over  the 
country  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel  or  an  upas 
tree,  or  something  of  that  nature.  The  thing 
to  do  was  to  get  into  an  automobile  and  go 
away  from  the  main  routes  of  travel,  into  dis 
tricts  where  the  abandoned  farms  would  natu 
rally  be  more  numerous. 

This  solved  one  phase  of  the  situation — we 
now  knew  definitely  where  to  go.  The  next 
problem  was  to  decide  upon  some  friend  own 
ing  an  automobile.  We  fixed  upon  the  Win- 
sells.  They  are  charming  people!  We  are  de 
voted  to  the  Winsells.  They  were  very  good 
friends  of  ours  when  they  had  their  small  four- 
passenger  car;  but  since  they  sold  the  old  one 
and  bought  a  new  forty-horse,  seven-passenger 
car,  they  are  so  popular  that  it  is  hard  to  get 
hold  of  them  for  holidays  and  week-ends. 

Every  Saturday — nearly — some  one  of  their 
list  of  acquaintances  is  calling  them  up  to  tell 
of  a  lovely  spot  he  has  just  heard  about,  with 
good  roads  all  the  way,  both  coming  and  going; 
but  after  a  couple  of  disappointments  we  caught 
them  when  they  had  an  open  date.  Over  the 
telephone  Winsell  objected  that  he  did  not 
know  anything  about  the  roads  up  in  Connec- 
cut,  but  I  was  able  to  reassure  him  promptly 
on  that  score.  I  told  him  he  need  not  worry 
about  that — that  I  would  buy  the  road  map 
[362] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

myself.  So  on  a  fair  Saturday  morning  we 
started. 

The  trip  up  through  the  extreme  lower  end 
of  the  state  of  New  York  was  delightful,  being 
marred  by  only  one  or  two  small  mishaps. 
There  was  the  trifling  incident  of  a  puncture, 
which  delayed  us  slightly;  but  fortunately  the 
accident  occurred  at  a  point  where  there  was 
a  wonderful  view  of  the  Croton  Lakes,  and 
while  Winsell  was  taking  off  the  old  tire  and 
adjusting  a  new  one  we  sat  very  comfortably 
in  the  car,  enjoying  Nature's  panorama. 

It  was  a  little  later  on  when  we  hit  a  dog. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  this  dog  merely  sailed, 
yowling,  up  into  the  air  in  a  sort  of  long  curve, 
but  Winsell  insisted  that  the  dog  described  a 
parabola.  I  am  very  glad  that  in  accidents  of 
this  character  it  is  always  the  victims  that  de 
scribe  the  parabola.  I  know  I  should  be  at  a 
complete  loss  to  describe  one  myself.  Unless 
it  is  something  like  the  boomerang  of  the  Aus 
tralian  aborigines  I  do  not  even  know  what  a 
parabola  is.  Nor  did  I  dream  until  then  that 
Winsell  understood  the  dog  language.  How 
ever,  those  are  but  technical  details. 

After  we  crossed  the  state  line  we  got  lost 
several  times;  this  was  because  the  country 
seemed  to  have  a  number  of  roads  the  road  map 
omitted,  and  the  road  map  had  many  roads 
the  country  had  left  out.  Eventually,  though, 
we  came  to  a  district  of  gently  rolling  hills, 
dotted  at  intervals  with  those  neat  white- 
[363] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

painted  villages  in  which  New  England  excels; 
and  between  the  villages  at  frequent  intervals 
were  farmhouses.  Abandoned  ones,  however, 
were  rarer  than  we  had  been  led  to  expect. 
Not  only  were  these  farms  visibly  populated 
by  persons  who  appeared  to  be  permanently 
attached  to  their  respective  locailities,  but  at 
many  of  them  things  were  offered  for  sale- 
such  as  home-made  pastry,  souvenirs,  fresh 
poultry,  antique  furniture,  brass  door-knock 
ers,  milk  and  eggs,  hand-painted  crockery, 
table  board,  garden  truck,  molasses  taffy,  laun 
dry  soap  and  livestock. 

At  length,  though,  when  our  necks  were 
quite  sore  from  craning  this  way  and  that  on 
the  watch  for  an  abandoned  farm  that  would 
suit  us,  we  came  to  a  very  attractive-looking 
place  facing  a  lawn  and  flanked  by  an  orchard. 
There  was  a  sign  fastened  to  an  elm  tree  along 
side  the  fence.  The  sign  read:  For  Informa 
tion  Concerning  This  Property  Ir quire  Within. 

To  Winsell  I  said: 

"Stop  here — this  is  without  doubt  the  place 
we  have  been  looking  for!" 

Filled — my  wife  and  I — with  little  thrills  of 
anticipation,  we  all  got  out.  I  opened  the  gate 
and  entered  the  yard,  followed  by  Winsell,  my 
wife  and  his  wife.  I  was  about  halfway  up  the 
walk  when  a  large  dog  sprang  into  view,  at  the 
same  time  showing  his  teeth  in  rather  an  intimi 
dating  way.  To  prevent  an  encounter  with 
an  animal  that  might  be  hostile,  I  stepped  nim- 
[  864,  ]  


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

bly  behind  the  nearest  tree.  As  I  came  round 
on  the  other  side  of  the  tree  there,  to  my  sur 
prise,  was  this  dog  face  to  face  with  me.  Still 
desiring  to  avoid  a  collision  with  him,  I  stepped 
back  the  other  way.  Again  I  met  the  dog, 
which  was  now  growling.  The  situation  was 
rapidly  becoming  embarrassing  when  a  gen 
tleman  came  out  upon  the  porch  and  called 
sharply  to  the  dog.  The  dog,  with  apparent 
reluctance,  retired  under  the  house  and  the 
gentleman  invited  us  inside  and  asked  us  to  be 
seated.  Glancing  about  his  living  room  I  noted 
that  the  furniture  appeared  to  be  a  trifle  mod 
ern  for  our  purposes;  but,  as  I  whispered  to 
my  wife,  you  cannot  expect  to  have  everything 
to  suit  you  at  first.  With  the  sweet  you  must 
ever  take  the  bitter — that  I  believe  is  true, 
though  not  an  original  saying. 

In  opening  the  conversation  with  the  strange 
gentleman  I  went  in  a  businesslike  way  direct 
to  the  point. 

"You  are  the  owner  of  these  premises?"  I 
asked.  He  bowed.  "I  take  it,"  I  then  said, 
"that  you  are  about  to  abandon  this  farm?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  said,  as  though 
confused. 

"I  presume,"  I  explained,  "that  this  is 
practically  an  abandoned  f^rm." 

"Not  exactly,"  he  said.     "I'm  here." 

"Yes,  yes;  quite  so,"  I  said,  speaking  per 
haps  a  trifle  impatiently.  "But  you  are  think 
ing  of  going  away  from  it,  aren't  you?" 

[  365  ] 


THOSE      TIMES      AND      THESE 

"Yes,"  he  admitted;  "I  am." 

"Now,"  I  said,  "we  are  getting  round  to  the 
real  situation.  What  are  you  asking  for  this 
place?" 

"Eighteen  hundred,"  he  stated.  "There 
are  ninety  acres  of  land  that  go  with  the  house 
and  the  house  itself  is  in  very  good  order." 

I  considered  for  a  moment.  None  of  the 
abandoned  farms  I  had  ever  read  about  sold 
for  as  much  as  eighteen  hundred  dollars.  Still, 
I  reflected,  there  might  have  been  a  recent  bull 
movement;  there  had  certainly  been  much 
publicity  upon  the  subject.  Before  commit 
ting  myself,  I  glanced  at  my  wife.  Her  ex 
pression  betokened  acquiescence. 

"That  figure,"  I  said  diplomatically,  "was 
somewhat  in  excess  of  what  I  was  originally 
prepared  to  pay;  still,  the  house  seems  roomy 
and,  as  you  were  saying,  there  are  ninety  acres. 
The  furniture  and  equipment  go  with  the  place, 
I  presume?" 

"Naturally,"  he  answered.  "That  is  the 
customary  arrangement." 

"And  would  you  be  prepared  to  give  pos 
session  immediately?" 

"Immediately,"  he  responded. 

I  began  to  feel  enthusiasm.  By  the  look  on 
my  wife's  face  I  could  tell  that  she  was  en 
thused  too. 

"If  we  come  to  terms,"  I  said,  "and  every 
thing  proves  satisfactory,  I  suppose  you  could 
arrange  to  have  the  deed  made  out  at  once?" 
[366] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

"The  deed?"  lie  said  blankly.  "You  mean 
the  lease?" 

"The  lease?"  I  said  blankly.  "You  mean 
the  deed?" 

"The  deed?"  he  said  blankly.  "You  mean 
the  lease?" 

"The  lease,  indeed,"  said  my  wife.  "You 
mean " 

I  broke  in  here.  Apparently  we  were  all 
getting  the  habit. 

"Let  us  be  perfectly  frank  in  this  matter,"  I 
said.  "Let  us  dispense  with  these  evasive  and 
dilatory  tactics.  You  want  eighteen  hundred 
dollars  for  this  place,  furnished?" 

"Exactly,"  he  responded.  "Eighteen  hun 
dred  dollars  for  it  from  June  to  October." 
Then,  noting  the  expressions  of  our  faces,  he 
continued  hurriedly:  "A  remarkably  small 
figure  considering  what  summer  rentals  are  in 
this  section.  Besides,  this  house  is  new.  It 
costs  a  lot  to  reproduce  these  old  Colonial  de 
signs!" 

I  saw  at  once  that  we  were  but  wasting  our 
time  in  this  person's  company.  He  had  not 
the  faintest  conception  of  what  we  wanted. 
We  came  away.  Besides,  as  I  remarked  to  the 
others  after  we  were  back  in  the  car  and  on 
our  way  again,  this  house-farm  would  never 
have  suited  us;  the  view  from  it  was  nothing 
extra.  I  told  Winsell  to  go  deeper  into  the  coun 
try  until  we  really  struck  the  abandoned  farm 

belt. 

[367] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

So  we  went  farther  and  farther.  After  a 
while  it  was  late  afternoon  and  we  seemed  to 
be  lost  again.  My  wife  and  WinselPs  wife 
were  tired;  so  we  dropped  them  at  the  next 
teahouse  we  passed.  I  believe  it  was  the  eigh 
teenth  teahouse  for  the  day.  Winsell  and  I 
then  continued  on  the  quest  alone.  Women 
know  so  little  about  business  anyway  that  it  is 
better,  I  think,  whenever  possible,  to  conduct 
important  matters  without  their  presence.  It 
takes  a  masculine  intellect  to  wrestle  with 
these  intricate  problems;  and  for  some  reason 
or  other  this  problem  was  becoming  more  and 
more  complicated  and  intricate  all  the  time. 

On  a  long,  deserted  stretch  of  road,  as  the 
shadows  were  lengthening,  we  overtook  a  na 
tive  of  a  rural  aspect  plodding  along  alone. 
Just  as  we  passed  him  I  was  taken  with  an  idea 
and  I  told  Winsell  to  stop.  I  was  tired  of  traf 
ficking  with  stupid  villagers  and  avaricious  land- 
grabbers.  I  would  deal  with  the  peasantry  di 
rect.  I  would  sound  the  yeoman  heart — 
which  is  honest  and  true  and  ever  beats  in  ac 
cord  with  the  best  dictates  of  human  nature. 

"My  friend,"  I  said  to  him,  "I  am  seeking 
an  abandoned  farm.  Do  you  know  of  many 
such  in  this  vicinity?" 

"How?"  he  asked. 

I  never  got  so  tired  of  repeating  a  question 
in  my  life;  nevertheless,  for  this  yokel's  lim 
ited  understanding,  I  repeated  it  again. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "whut  with  all 
[  368  ] 


ABANDONED     FARMERS 

these  city  fellers  moving  in  here  to  do  gentle 
man-farming — whatsoever  that  may  mean — 
farm  property  has  gone  up  until  now  it's  wuth 
considerable  more'n  town  property,  as  a  rule. 
I  couldn't  scursely  say  I  know  of  any  of  the 
kind  of  farms  you  mention  as  laying  round 
loose — no,  wait  a  minute;  I  do  recollect  a  place. 
It's  that  shack  up  back  of  the  county  poor 
farm  that  the  supervisors  used  for  a  pest  house 
the  time  the  smallpox  broke  out.  That  there 
place  is  consider 'bly  abandoned.  You  might  try 
her." 

In  a  stern  tone  of  voice  I  bade  Winsell  to 
drive  on  and  turn  in  at  the  next  farmhouse  he 
came  to.  The  time  for  trifling  had  passed.  My 
mind  was  fixed.  My  jaw  was  also  set.  I  know, 
because  I  set  it  myself.  And  I  have  no  doubt 
there  was  a  determined  glint  in  my  eye;  in  fact, 
I  could  feel  the  glint  reflected  upon  my  cheek. 

At  the  next  farm  Winsell  turned  in.  We 
passed  through  a  stone  gateway  and  rolled  up 
a  well-kept  road  toward  a  house  we  could  see 
in  glimpses  through  the  intervening  trees. 
We  skirted  several  rather  neat  flower  beds, 
curved  round  a  greenhouse  and  came  out  on  a 
stretch  of  lawn.  I  at  once  decided  that  this 
place  would  do  undoubtedly.  There  might  be 
alterations  to  make,  but  in  the  main  the  es 
tablishment  would  be  satisfactory  even  though 
the  house,  on  closer  inspection,  proved  to  be 
larger  than  it  had  seemed  when  seen  from  a 

distance. 

[369] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

On  a  signal  from  me  Winsell  halted  at  the 
front  porch.  Without  a  word  I  stepped  out. 
He  followed.  I  mounted  the  steps,  treading 
with  great  firmness  and  decision,  and  rang  the 
doorbell  hard.  A  middle-aged  person  dressed 
in  black,  with  a  high  collar,  opened  the  door. 

"Are  you  the  proprietor  of  this  place?"  I  de 
manded  without  any  preamble.  My  patience 
was  exhausted;  I  may  have  spoken  sharply. 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  he  said,  and  I  could  tell  by  his 
accent  he  was  English;  "the  marster  is  out, 
sir." 

"I  wish  to  see  him,"  I  said,  "on  particular 
business — at  once!  At  once,  you  understand — 
it  is  important!" 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  come  in,  sir,"  he  said 
humbly.  It  was  evident  my  manner,  which 
was,  I  may  say,  almost  haughty,  had  impressed 
him  deeply.  "If  you  will  wait,  sir,  I'll  have  the 
marster  called,  sir.  He's  not  far  away,  sir." 

"Very  good,"  I  replied.     "Do  so!" 

He  showed  us  into  a  large  library  and  fussed 
about,  offering  drinks  and  cigars  and  what-not. 
Winsell  seemed  somewhat  perturbed  by  these 
attentions,  but  I  bade  him  remain  perfectly 
calm  and  collected,  adding  that  I  would  do  all 
the  talking. 

We  took  cigars — very  good  cigars  they  were. 
As  they  were  not  banded  I  assumed  they  were 
home  grown.  I  had  always  heard  that  Con 
necticut  tobacco  was  strong,  but  these  speci 
mens  were  very  mild  and  pleasant.  I  had  about 
[  370] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

decided  I  should  put  in  tobacco  for  private 
consumption  and  grow  my  own  cigars  and 
cigarettes  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  stout 
elderly  man  with  side  whiskers  entered  the 
room.  He  was  in  golfing  costume  and  was 
breathing  hard. 

"As  soon  as  I  got  your  message  I  hurried 
over  as  fast  as  I  could,"  he  said. 

"You  need  not  apologise,"  I  replied;  "we 
have  not  been  kept  waiting  very  long." 

"I  presume  you  come  in  regard  to  the  trac 
tion  matter?"  he  ventured. 

"No,"  I  said,  "not  exactly.  You  own  this 
place,  I  believe?" 

"I  do,"  he  said,  staring  at  me. 

"So  far,  so  good,"  I  said.  "Now,  then, 
kindly  tell  me  when  you  expect  to  abandon 
it?" 

He  backed  away  from  me  a  few  feet,  gaping. 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  for  a  few  moments 
absent-mindedly  left  it  in  that  condition. 

"When  do  I  expect  to  do  what?"  he  in 
quired. 

"When,"  I  said,  "do  you  expect  to  aban 
don  it?" 

He  shook  his  head  as  though  he  had  a  marble 
loose  inside  of  it  and  liked  the  rattling  sound. 

"I  don't  understand  yet,"  he  said,  puzzled. 

"I  will  explain,"  I  said  very  patiently.     "I 

wish  to  acquire  by  purchase  or  otherwise  one 

of  the  abandoned  farms  of  this  state.    Not  hav- 

ing  been  able  to  find  one  that  was  already  aban- 

[371] 


THOSE      TIMES     AND     THESE 

doned,  though  I  believe  them  to  be  very  numer 
ous,  I  am  looking  for  one  that  is  about  to  be 
abandoned.  I  wish,  you  understand,  to  have 
the  first  call  on  it.  Winsell " — I  said  in  an  aside 
— "quit  pulling  at  my  coattail!  Therefore,"  I 
resumed,  readdressing  the  man  with  the  side 
whiskers,  "I  ask  you  a  plain  question,  to  wit: 
When  do  you  expect  to  abandon  this  one?  I 
expect  a  plain  answer." 

He  edged  a  few  feet  nearer  an  electric  push 
button  which  was  set  in  the  wall.  He  seemed 
flustered  and  distraught;  in  fact,  almost  ap 
prehensive. 

"May  I  inquire,"  he  said  nervously,  "how 
you  got  in  here?" 

"Your  butler  admitted  us,"  I  said,  with 
dignity. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  soothing  tone;  "but 
did  you  come  afoot — or  how?" 

"I  drove  here  in  a  car,"  I  told  him,  though 
I  couldn't  see  what  difference  that  made. 

"Merciful  Heavens!"  he  muttered.  "They 
do  not  trust  you — I  mean  you  do  not  drive  the 
car  yourself,  do  you?" 

Here  Winsell  cut  in. 

"I  drove  the  car,"  he  said.  "I — I  did  not 
want  to  come,  but  he" — pointing  to  me — "he 
insisted."  Winsell  is  by  nature  a  grovelling 
soul.  His  tone  was  almost  cringing. 

"I  see,"  said  the  gentleman,  wagging  his 
head,  "I  see.  Sad  case — very  sad  case!  Young 
too!"  Then  he  faced  me.  "You  will  excuse 
[372] 


ABANDONED      FARMERS 

me  now,"  he  said.  "I  wish  to  speak  to  my  but 
ler.  I  have  just  thought  of  several  things  I 
wish  to  say  to  him.  Now  in  regard  to  abandon 
ing  this  place:  I  do  not  expect  to  abandon  this 
place  just  yet — probably  not  for  some  weeks 
or  possibly  months.  In  case  I  should  decide  to 
abandon  it  sooner,  if  you  will  leave  your  ad 
dress  with  me  I  will  communicate  with  you  by 
letter  at  the  institution  where  you  may  chance 
to  be  stopping  at  the  time.  I  trust  this  will  be 
satisfactory." 

He  turned  again  to  Winsell. 

"Does  your — ahem — friend  care  for  flow 
ers?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Winsell.    "I  think  so." 

"Perhaps  you  might  show  him  my  flower 
gardens  as  you  go  away,"  said  the  side- whisk 
ered  man.  "I  have  heard  somewhere  that  flow 
ers  have  a  very  soothing  effect  sometimes  in 
such  cases — or  it  may  have  been  music.  I  have 
spent  thirty  thousand  dollars  beautifying  these 
grounds  and  I  am  really  very  proud  of  them. 
Show  him  the  flowers  by  all  means — you  might 
even  let  him  pick  a  few  if  it  will  humour  him." 

I  started  to  speak,  but  he  was  gone.  In  the 
distance  somewhere  I  heard  a  door  slam. 

Under  the  circumstances  there  was  nothing 
for  us  to  do  except  to  come  away.  Originally 
I  did  not  intend  to  make  public  mention  of  this 
incident,  preferring  to  dismiss  the  entire  thing 
from  my  mind;  but,  inasmuch  as  Winsell  has 
seen  fit  to  circulate  a  perverted  and  needlessly 
[373] 


THOSE     TIMES     AND     THESE 

exaggerated  version  of  it  among  our  circle  of 
friends,  I  feel  that  the  exact  circumstances 
should  be  properly  set  forth. 

It  was  a  late  hour  when  we  rejoined  our 
wives.  This  was  due  to  Winsell's  stupidity  in 
forgetting  the  route  we  had  traversed  after 
parting  from  them;  in  fact,  it  was  nearly  mid 
night  before  he  found  his  way  back  to  the  tea 
house  where  we  left  them.  The  teahouse  had 
been  closed  for  some  hours  then  and  our  wives 
were  sitting  in  the  dark  on  the  teahouse  porch 
waiting  for  us.  Really,  I  could  not  blame 
them  for  scolding  Winsell;  but  they  displayed 
an  unwarranted  peevishness  toward  me.  My 
wife's  display  of  temper  was  really  the  last 
straw.  It  was  that,  taken  in  connection  with 
certain  other  circumstances,  which  clinched  my 
growing  resolution  to  let  the  whole  project  slide 
into  oblivion.  I  woke  her  up  and  in  so  many 
words  told  her  so  on  the  way  home.  We  ar 
rived  there  shortly  after  daylight  of  the  follow 
ing  morning. 

So,  as  I  said  at  the  outset,  I  have  definitely 
given  up  my  purpose  of  buying  an  abandoned 
farm  and  becoming  an  abandoned  farmer.  This 
spring  we  began  looking  about  the  Upper  West 
Side  for  an  abandoned  flat. 

Judging  by  the  entrance  halls  and  the  inte 
rior  decorations  in  the  new  buildings  we  have 
visited  thus  far,  they  are  probably  the  most 
abandoned  flats  in  the  world. 


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